


The Bodyguard

by Miss_Shiva_Adler



Series: The bodyguard, the gunslinger & the archer [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Drinking & Talking, Established Relationship, Hanamura (Overwatch), Multi, Omnic Racism, Oral Sex, References to Addiction, Seduction, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, Yakuza Hanzo Shimada, established open relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-02-19 00:17:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13111662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Shiva_Adler/pseuds/Miss_Shiva_Adler
Summary: When Jesse McCree came to work for the Shimada clan, he was not ready to deal with what was happening behind closed doors.[The Bodyguard is the first fic in a series of three]





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This isn’t really an AU apart from canon divergences (Mainly with Zarya). 
> 
> **Tags will change according to the parts that are getting uploaded**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got inspired by this fanart of Hanzo and McCree in a Yakuza AU made by [ Pickart-master, To be found here (the original post was deleted)](http://miss-shiva-adler.tumblr.com/post/168080293162/pickart-master-another-piece-of-that-au-first)
> 
> **Tags will change according to the parts that are getting uploaded**

“I don’t see why, specifically, we would take you on as an asset.” She was looking over the rim of her glasses, a heavy Asian accent supporting her sentence. Her black hair was tied up in a bun. Small heels on crossed legs, her skirt came right above the knee. Minimal make up, she was looking harmless, stuck up, but harmless and unmemorable. It was a façade however, a façade that probably every employee was required to put up when dealing with new recruits and clients, he guessed. She had a blade hidden in her sleeve, a gun taped under the desk, most probably a small syringe hidden in her hairpin and her nails were way too sharp to not have been enhanced in some way. And you couldn’t simply ignore the gorilla sized guards that were guarding the door of the completely windowless room they were in. He had waited hours on a couch before the woman even had entered the premises of the warehouse. He crossed his arms tapping off his cigarette in the ashtray. He was a patient man; this was all a test. To see if his resolve was real, if he really wanted to be part of this whole industry. They had put a tracker on him and bugged his apartment. They were probably recording this current conversation as well. There was a hidden camera in the wall on the right. He was being scrutinised at this very moment.

It had all started a few weeks ago, when he had taken a girl home, to extract information and to spread the word that he was a gun for hire. It had been such an obvious set up, the tattoo on her back had given away which clan she was in, even her position and rank. The girl knew what to do and what to say. For any man it would have been a night to be remembered. But he was a gunslinger, freshly escaped from an operation that had gone sour, yet he wasn’t stupid. She had planted electronic devices everywhere when he had pretended to be asleep almost drawing a knife on him when he had shifted in the bed to look at her better. She had left a note the next morning. Saying it had been nice and that she was glad to have spent the night with an amazing man like himself. She had made up a lie on how she was off studying in Europe. He hadn’t looked out for her again because the opportunity was already there. He had run analyses, called in a favour, found where the bug was transferring information to and went there. It was a seamstress shop. The following fight was inevitable. The owner had tried to stab him with a huge knife, after which two others had tried to gun him down. He shot one dead and flash banged the others to take them out. Silence fell, he was almost walking out, cursing that he had lost his lead when he heard a small girl talking. On his guard, he walked to the behind of the shop. She was speaking Japanese, a knife in her hand, and if glares could kill, that kiddo would have made him dead a million times. In her other hand she was holding a phone, which she extended to him. It’s how he had gotten into contact with all of this. Now he was in what he guessed a first round of a job interview? It was all a bit confusing but if he wanted to be taken in there was no other way. He shifted a leg over the other, half mirroring her body language. He inhaled his nicotine and tapped his cigarette out in the ashtray. The woman in front of him was still typing on the keyboard. She hadn’t introduced herself and since she had greeted him with his name he hadn’t bothered to ask her who she was.

“That would be pretty strange, what I heard is that you folks have a need of the perks I can offer.” She raised an eyebrow. McCree leaned forward, “I’m Jesse McCree, I worked for the Deadlock gang.” Her hands left the keyboard and she leaned in to interrupt him mid-sentence, her two hands on the desk. Her voice cold as ice. “I would kindly reconsider if you are about to make a threat, _gaijin_.” He refrained to take out his peacekeeper, insults like these were often a reason he would lose his temper. But he decided to smile instead and sat back down into his chair. He tipped his hat, “Now there missy, there is no need for violence, I was just going to say that: a simple please would have cut it. Bugging my apartment, putting me under constant surveillance and recording everything I do is a bit much. I would gladly be of service for the Shimada-clan in exchange of a bit of cash and a smile.” She was unamused by his attempt at being charming. “I’m afraid we can’t help you;” her accent heavy, she was visibly annoyed and just returned to her computer, “Escort him out.” Another test ? Maybe asking nicely was the way to do it. He put his hand in his pocket, circling his fingers around a small flashbang grenade. “Please ?” She ignored him and when the two burly men tried to grab a hold of him it all went pretty fast. There was a cry out, two shots, he shortly considered shooting the woman as well. But that would just have meant he would start his search from scraps. The two men were dead, shot between the eyes. She glared at him “You will pay for this, _gaijin._ ” It’s then that something weird happened some kind of distortion appeared around her. A barrier of some sort. He reaffirmed his grip on his Magnum .44. This technology was unknown to him. This smelled like a really bad ordeal right now.

“Enough.” He turned around. A woman stood next to the door, she was massive, a head taller than him. Her face scarred with an ‘X’ on her right eyebrow. “Stand down, the both of you. Or I’ll break you both with my bare hands.” He smirked at the comment and wondered whether or not he could best her in a fight. She was leaning against a huge machine that vibrated with energy. A dark blue suit made her look elegant. She wore fine lined trousers, dark shoes and a pale buttoned up shirt. She knew how to dress to impress. “I’m sorry, Miss Zaryanova, this man…” Miss Zaryanova pointed a finger at the other woman and interrupted her sentence, it was clear that she was the one in power here, and not just the physical one. “I don’t want to hear it, your performance was a most disappointing one.” Her accent was thickly Russian. McCree stifled down a smile of delight at the obvious humiliation that the secretary woman was enduring. A little payback for that insult she had thrown at his face earlier. He took a small step back when Miss Zaryanova lifted the huge machine she was leaning against as if it was nothing. The thing must have weighted 6 to 7 times his weight or more even. She approached him and put what he guessed was some kind of weapon on the desk. Still distracted by that machine he didn’t realise that in two steps she was suddenly in front of him. It was strange needing to physically tilt up his head up to look at someone. She had striking green eyes. Almost forgetting his manners he extended a hand. “Jesse McCree, gunslinger.” She actually took his hand gently in her hand, to shake it. “Aleksandra Zaryanova, bodyguard and currently your evaluator for the next mission.” Even though her hair was pink and that he in other circumstances would mock the colour, the woman in front of him was making quite the impression on him. The gentle touch of her hand not wanting to assert dominance, those green eyes making a steady eye contact, the confidence that was rolling off her shoulders. She was present but not suffocating, quite attractive also. She seemed like a powerful woman not to mess around with. She was clearly a soldier, but not of the same type as Jack Morrison.

Her palm brushed his as they broke contact. McCree was surprised at the loss of warmth it gave him. A hint of smile appeared on her lips, which struck him as almost pleasant. She took back the weapon she had taken with her and issued an order in Japanese. The other woman bowed to what Zaryanova said. The respect she incited made it clear that she just wasn’t a simple bodyguard as she had suggested; how far up the chain was she? “Now if you will a car is waiting for us, right outside.” It sounded like an order, a friendly order, but still an order. He nodded and followed his evaluator outside. He observed her back, a tattoo was peeking out from under her collar. It probably went from her neck to her lower back. This often happened when you were part of a clan. Her back was stretching the clothes and he wondered how those muscles looked when they were stripped from clothing. He had rarely seen a woman from her stature this close. He wondered if her muscles would feel hard at the touch. The cold wind blew over his face, he instinctively put his hand on his hat. Three men were smoking outside waiting, she spoke to them in Russian and they took over what Zaryanova had in her hands before a fourth one opened the door of the Land Rover. He bowed slightly, “Ladies first, Ma’am.” She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest, tapping her foot, she had apparently not appreciated the gesture. “Get in Mister McCree. Don’t be a fool.” He hesitated to play it off but decided to shrug instead and got in. Zaryanova was not to be charmed tonight. She closed the door. Obviously the windows were tinted black and the car had a mini-bar. A bit stereotypical he thought. Zaryanova held a data pad to him. “Mission briefing; we ask you to eliminate the target by any means necessary. You’ll be accompanying a small infiltration team.” Her elbows rested on her knees as she folded her hands. His eyes skimmed the data. It had info about weapons, location and ground plans of the building. He studied the face of the person whose name had the word ‘principal target’ flashing next to it. Middle-aged, male, Asian, had the name Fujieda, didn’t seem like a threat. But appearances were deceiving. “An execution, aye ?”, “Will that be a problem?” No, he had killed before, but mostly because there had been no other alternatives and the bounty demanded the target to be dead. “If the mission demands it,” he crossed her eyes, they were capturing him in a gaze, “I do what I’m asked to do.” She was unmoved. He couldn’t tell if it was the confidence in her attitude, her boldness or even the mystery surrounding her. She was inspiring in him some kind of respect he wasn’t used to encountering in his own behaviour, especially since she was clearly younger than him. “We’re bringing you to a warehouse in the new district, you will be able to arm yourself, meet your team. Before being dispatched, I’ll be in constant communication with you through the commlink. At the end of the mission you will be picked up again. You’ll know if you are as valuable as you say are. If I approved of your performance.” The undertone was clear, he had to succeed this mission or he was himself to be executed. The mission didn’t look that hard. There was certainly another test awaiting him on the battlefield itself.

-

They were not even sparing him a look, just busy talking. It was pretty dark. The armoury had all kinds of different guns. Seeing the nature of the mission he chose a silencer for his peacekeeper gun. It looked like it had been especially prepared for him. He accepted the change of clothes. The body armour they were proposing was darker than what he was wearing. He refused however to leave his hat or boots behind. There was more room for grenades around his belt this time. He stashed away the rest of his stuff in a locker, put his watch on self-destruct if it wasn’t unlocked properly, and swiped the locker closed. The words ‘fingerprint recognised’ and ‘locked’ flashed on the small screen. It all felt pretty mechanical, but familiar. Right now he just had to wait until whatever happened behind the scenes was ready for this operation to start. He sat down on a bench against a wall pulling his hat slightly lower. A ritual to ground himself; to concentrate on the task at hand. Other members of the team were just sitting around a table, some of them smoking. Another was looking at the guns. “You’re American right?” He looked up. A guy near his late twenties was looking at him. “You ain’t wrong,” was his answer. The guy sat next to him, giving him what looked like communication gear. “It’s their latest tech. We are to test it out for this mission.” “You a field agent, kid?” he shook his head. “No, I’m just your driver. I’m pretty good at getting people in and out.” He seemed pretty young, “You been working here long?”, “Eight years, I think? Kumicho-dono took me off the streets himself. Saved me, gave me a place here, a family I never had until now.” McCree didn’t reply. The kid was visibly young and had made bad choices and it was certain that he wasn’t the only one. His mind drifted to Zaryanova, what was her reason to join the Shimada-clan, had she needed saving? Or was it ambition? Maybe she had seen this as the best solution to fight against the omnics that were destroying half of her country. Maybe it was something completely different all together. Speaking of the devil, she entered together with two other men.

“Assemble, you all.” Her booming voice made most of the people salute her. She was the leader here. They all went to the table as a ground plan was projected. She briefed the team, presented the team leader called Tachiro and went over on how the mission was going to proceed. The building was in an isolated place surrounded by a forest next to an abandoned railway station. She emphasized that blowing up things was absolutely ill advised. The trains that were stored there used highly flammable fuel. The target was mainly Fujieda who had apparently sold guns and other supplies to an omnic resistance group. But for the operation to go smoothly any other person that could be a possible witness needed to be eliminated as well. “No prisoners; no survivors.” And it’s then that Zaryanova’s expression became darker, ruthless, “Let it be man or machine.” She was referring to omnics, people around nodded. The hate was rolling off of her, her hand clenching the data pad in her hand. Her jaw clenched. Her posture attacking. Her brow frowned. Their gazes crossed and it was like her green eyes were burning with implied imperative. “We’ll get them, Ma’am.” He returned her gaze as he said that. He nodded slightly making it clear he would personally make sure that any omnic on sight was executed. It somehow seemed to make her relax. Her shoulders relieving some tension. Even her breathing became more steady. “Move out!”

As a well-oiled machine everybody moved out. They had all been working together for a while he figured. They filed into two vans, each big enough to hold 6. Zaryanova was at the communication controls, while someone else was looking at the radar. Tachiro was going over the plan one more time. They would split into two teams. One would offer a bait, the other infiltrate. He tuned out slightly, looking at Zaryanova. Her brow was furrowed in concentration as she was cross checking the information in between screens. Noticing he was staring at her she took off her headset. “I was wondering, how does a soldier like you favour to be more behind the scenes than on the front line?” Tachiro was still talking; she seemed surprised by the question. She unconsciously caressed her bottom lip with her thumb, considering the answer. “If there was a need for superior firepower, I would follow these men into battle. Lead them to victory.” She gestured to herself, the team leader was still speaking so he took out the earbud to be able to listen to her better. “I’m no spy. Right now I’m more useful here than on the battlefield. Beside…” She seemed hesitant to talk for a moment. His training made it clear she was about to tell something personal but had resigned to do it. “I’m still evaluating if you have your place here, if you’re an asset to the team.” He tipped his hat to her. “Let’s hope I’ll convince you then, Ma’am.” He put the earbud back in, someone was in the middle of formulating a question. Zaryanova was hiding her real function to him. Prying would have seemed suspicious so he just went back to the task at hand. He didn’t add anything to the conversation since everything was just repeating what he had read on the data pad earlier this evening.

They arrived and moved out. He was on the infiltration team. It was dark outside and there were just the lights of the pulse machines lighting in the dark. They went around the building. A quick look inside showed that people were just minding their own business. The team leader gave the signal and an explosion was heard. The diversion seemed to work. They stormed in. It all happened fast. He only had to rely on his reflexes. Dodge, bullet, an omnic grabbing his arm kicking it off; shooting it in circuits, one man went down, a second, a third. Another explosion. Louder. A flashbang he refilled his barrel. Killed two more. They were advancing upstairs where the main target was. Someone bunked down the door and got shot gunned into the face. A rain of bullets followed as McCree was able to duck. There was another window at the office. They weren’t looking through that one and it was at their back. Another explosion and in the earbud there was a scream of the amount teammates down. He moved away from the room where the other men were just shooting without aiming. Tachiro was cursing as he joined McCree. “Most of the teammates are down, a train exploded. They knew we were coming. We’re down to three guys against whatever is left in that office over there.” He was injured to the stomach because of the debris. McCree scouted the premises. There was another office further away. “Cover me,” he said to his colleague before darting off. Another rain of bullets flew over his head. The other office was empty. He had calculated right; there was a window with a railing that connected the two offices. He climbed over the windowsill. Shit, it was unstable. He rested his back against the wall to make sure he wouldn’t fall and break his neck. The cold nipped at his face. He exhaled through his nose. He shouldn’t have looked. He hated heights. He made smalls steps, trying to clench down the feeling of panic rising in his stomach. He cursed. It was what, 5 meters? He could handle 5 meters. He exhaled once more. One step after the other, one step after the other, one step after… the metal railing moved and he was stunned to silence. At least with the noise from inside nobody heard what was happening outside. He felt himself tremble. Fuck, shit, damned this all to hell. He was too afraid to close his eyes. Too afraid to continue. He inhaled. Exhaled. Don’t look down. He reached in his back pocket. Took out a cigar and lit it. Inhaled. Exhaled. The fumes in his mouth settling him down. His team leader was shouting in his earbud. He ignored. Dragging out a good inhalation from his cigar. He looked at the moon. Feeling his nerves settling down. He tapped the ashes off. One step after the other. One step after the other. The window was slightly open. 5 heads were facing the other way. Guns in hand, hiding from Tachiro who was shooting from the corner of the door. He calculated. Concentrated. The cold wind caressing his face and bare forearms. He aimed. “Step right up.” Five detonations from his Magnum .44. They all fell stone cold dead. Bullets lodged into their skulls.

It was suddenly very quiet. McCree busted in the window so it would leave passage to him. Zaryanova talked to him “Status report, McCree.” He recharged his peacekeeper. “Main target eliminated.” He said in the earbud. Tachiro came out with two other men, one was holding him over his shoulder so he could walk better. “We suffered heavy losses, one of the omnics was a B73. We’re three men plus one injured.” The rest of his team were checking for any pulses on the dead enemies in front of them. “Very well. Shoot them.” He looked at his team mates.

_If the mission demands it, I do what I’m asked to do._

He knew he would hate himself later, he pulled the trigger on the first one. They weren’t fast enough. Tachiro reached for his gun but just fell down dead at the second shot. The third was panicked and stunned, he got killed instantly. “Come and join us at the pickup point.” He dragged from his cigar and exited the building. He walked at ease, his nerves not coming down just yet. He made sure to stretch his legs after every step. He kicked a stone. To feel more relaxed. Yeah he hated doing that. Shooting men without a reason. The door opened. Zaryanova helped him to get in with a strong grip. Her strength was quite unmatched. He sat down on the jumpseat and dragged one last time from his cigar before tapping it out on the ashtray next to the monitors. He didn’t feel like talking. Zaryanova turned to him sitting down on her chair. “I see there was a peak in your cardiac rhythm during the operation. May I know what that was about?” Her green eyes crossed his. She seemed wanting to talk about his evaluation. He smiled, trying to make sure he was on her good side. “The rails I was on were unstable it surprised me.” She wanted more information, so there was a silence. He knew this technique but he really didn’t want to play along this time. Zaryanova sighed, “Well I’ll be sending your results to the administration.” She turned her back to him. Half an hour later he was again in front of his lockers, changing into his own body armour. Leaving the suppressor behind. Zaryanova was busy on the phone. He hadn’t been dismissed so he didn’t leave.

After what seemed fifteen minutes a man walked up to him, “Mister McCree, Please follow me.” He followed the guy to another exit of the warehouse. A sports car was waiting for him. Leather seats, space for the legs and a well-isolated interior. Zaryanova joined him in the backseat, wearing a grey trenchcoat and ordered the man to drive. “Kumicho wants to meet you in person, he thinks you’re fit to enter into service of the clan.” That was good news, “I’d be honoured to meet the head of the Shimada clan.” Zaryanova smiled truly for the first time this evening. “He is curious about you. Nobody escapes Overwatch and stays in hiding. At least not for long.” She laid her arm over the seats. Her posture seemed like a friendly one. “All I’m saying is that I’m a pretty skilled man.” She piano-ed a code into the interface of the middle seat. “Do you want anything to drink? Whiskey, wine, vodka?” What he remembered of his research, usually when criminal bosses started to share drinks with you, you were participating to a ceremony of admission into the clan, the family. “Whiskey ‘ll do fine.” She poured him a glass of whiskey and took Vodka for herself. He wondered if it was her favourite drink. She clearly took pleasure into drinking it; his eyes darted toward her lips. She sipped again and put the glass back down. “Where are we heading, if you don’t mind me asking Ma’am?” “Shimada Castle.” Already? That was quick, he made a mental note that if the incident occurred again, that he got into Shimada castle, he should check if he was able to place a bug.

Hanamura’s village was centuries old. Next to the technologically advanced buildings he couldn’t determine if the village was an embellishment or a stain into the landscape. The car stopped and they went further on foot. Some pedestrians were walking the streets, lots of them in traditional clothing. There didn’t seem to be a lot of heavy armed defences everywhere. Which could have been evaluated as strange. The noisy arcade was full of kids and some adults accompanying them. The smell of ramen enchanted the air with spicy scents. Hanamura village was quite lively.  Further up there was a giant wooden gate. “Normally you would go through a heavy scanning,” Zaryanova passed the gate flashing a badge putting her hands up. “Since we have been slightly caught in traffic. It will not be necessary.” He decided to enter the same way. The inside of the arch had scanning devices which you were unable to see when looking at it from the other side. There was a perch on the right. A way to infiltrate. There was also a clear shot from the loft upside the café for a sniper. Men were looking at monitors in the small pagoda next to the arch. They talked in English saying that he had weapons on him. Various ones. There was a back terrace next to the perch. Where would it lead to? Zaryanova said she would personally make sure McCree would stay in line. “Unless you are planning an assassination on our Kumicho?” She was looking at him. McCree smiled slightly at her intense gaze. “If I really wanted to assassinate I don’t think I would have done this way; announcing myself, leavin’ the tracker switched on that you guys have implemented on me when I went on the mission. Or even leavin’ you guys with my stuff in a locker.” Her jaw was relaxing and she seemed satisfied with his answer. Her eyes lingered on his face. She turned around and gave him a gesture that he should need to follow. The front yard was pretty impressive since you had a clear view on the giant bell in the main pagoda of the front yard. Zaryanova sped up the walking pace. There were employees all over the place. On the upper bridge, the balcony. Noise was coming from the apartment. The lawn and inner courtyard were illuminated with floating lanterns. There were cherry blossom trees everywhere. There was a pavilion on the right. A pathway that lead to the main building, the dojo. Another walkway and a shop on the left. He just couldn’t seem to find the cameras if there were any. Some men saluted Zaryanova with a hand wave. She didn’t respond back to them. “Take your shoes off,” Zaryanova ordered. “Leave them on the shoe rack.” He complied, seemed like he would be walking around with white socks. At least the dojo had floor heating.

The entrance hall was impressive. A large scroll centred in the room, a sword was displayed under it as a relic. An old woman rushed toward Zaryanova. Speaking in Japanese. They whispered toward each other ignoring him completely. He studied a bit more the interior. Above the altar there was a wallpainting of two dragons, one green, the other blue. They were fighting with each other. There was a path way for outside. Two balconies on every side of the room. The old woman extended her hands toward him. He looked at Zaryanova, not understanding what the woman wanted. After a few seconds his evaluator said: “She wants you to take off your hat and your coat” he was more reluctant to leave the hat off. They were given slippers to continue further. “During the day several students come and practice at the dojo. They work hard to become full fleshed members, agents for the Shimada clan.” Zaryanova sat down on one of the cushions that were on the floor. “Can I suppose it’s only the elite that are allowed to enter training grounds just like these?” A smile, those deep green eyes were shining with amusement. He sat down next to her. She opened her mouth to answer but got interrupted:

“ ‘Through the dragon’s breath, even the soul freezes. Through the dragon’s heart, the spirit exuberates.’ Those were the words that my father raised me with, and his father before him and so on.” He stood there, tall, strong, his arms crossed and hidden in his traditional green kimono. His hair long, coming to his collarbone. The age lines contouring his mouth, his brow. An expression of indifference adorning his face. A man of beauty, a man of power. The head of the Yakuza and ninja clans combined. A man not to be crossed, a man feared by dozens, but envied by most. McCree would have scrambled himself up, he would have gotten up, he was just transfixed. Hanzo Shimada was everything they had told him he would be. “Zarya, has told me of your performance, most impressive.” He hadn’t realised she had gotten up however. His eyes were dark, hard, those eyes had killed, tortured, murdered. He felt the hairs upon his neck rising. “I wanted to take a look at you before accepting you to be part of my life’s work.” Those eyes were boring into his soul. He had been silenced by just one look. A smile, a smirk, “I like to know the strengths and weaknesses of my new recruits. Indulge me into some entertainment.” Hanzo cocked his head to the side, the expression on his face changing. A whiff of annoyance appeared in his words: “Well then, American? I’m not often left without answers.” McCree broke contact with their eyes, remembering he had strength in his legs to get up. He walked, every step reverberating in his body. He extended his hand. “I’ll be more than welcoming to entertain you, sir.” Hanzo ignored the extended hand and turned around, Zaryanova following him closely, exactly how a bodyguard would do. She stood just as tall, just as powerful, however closer, like an unseemly connection was relying the both of them. Only a few servants in the corridors, they all bowed to him as he passed. He tried to concentrate on finding cameras, technology that would give out how Shimada Castle was built and defended. But the flow of Hanzo’s kimono was distracting him, it flowed like water. He flowed like water, the way he moved. He was in constant high alert.

“Step into the Dojo,” Hanzo let him go first; his arms crossed, their bodies not quite touching yet. Hanzo smelled of sandalwood, McCree eyed the collarbone, he was distracted. More than just distracted. This part of the training ground had weapon racks, bows, swords, shurikens and other. It also had target practices. Holographic ones, they absorbed damage done to them. The wall behind was slightly scraped and damaged. Students that would have missed their targets. “Choose your weapon,” Hanzo ordered him. Did he have to choose from what was offered on the rack? He couldn’t decide, he had never used any of these. He touched a crossbow. Hanzo was scrutinizing him. Shit he had no idea, so honesty was the best course of action. “I have never used any of these.” He was going to take the crossbow. In bad case scenario he would get thrown out, mission failed, then someone else was going to take over. Best case scenario he would just humiliate himself. The weapon was heavy, he needed two hands to keep it up. He walked over to the target. He looked through the scope. That looked familiar at least. “If you miss I’ll kill you myself,” Hanzo issued. He had come closer to the gunslinger. McCree felt like an electric current went through his body. A hand upon his shoulder. Hanzo was trying to get him out of balance. “Aim slightly higher,” the Kumicho recommended, whispering in his ear. McCree exhaled, clenching down any feelings of weirdness, turmoil or incomprehension. Worst case scenario he would die. Hanzo’s hand left his shoulder, it felt like it had been burnt with fire. Inhale, exhale, concentrate. He aimed for the heart. A first shot. The board flashed yellow, the bolt was lodged barely into the leg of the target. The crossbow recharged automatically. He aimed higher, grounded himself better. Taking a better balance on his two feet. Second shot, the bolt lodged itself into the shoulder, the board flashed yellow. Not too high, not too low. Last possible target. He inhaled, exhaled. Third shot, the board flashed green. He had missed the heart, but not the target. “Shot in the artery, painful death for many.” McCree lowered his weapon. Had he passed the test? Hanzo walked up to the weapon rack and took out three arrows and a bow. McCree moved out of the way. Hanzo was fast. All of his shots were headshots. The board flashed purple. The Kumicho hummed satisfied. McCree couldn’t help but whistle: “I’ve gotta admit, you’ve got style.” He permitted himself to unsheathe his peacekeeper and headshot the two other targets. The board flashed purple.

Hanzo turned around, watching the gunslinger re load his gun. “I invite you to dinner.” McCree raised an eyebrow. That was an unexpected invitation. Zaryanova was smiling as she was leaning against the door opening of the training room. “To celebrate this new founded friendship, Zarya, make the arrangements. I’m sure we can put Mister McCree on the invitee list.” The bodyguard took out her phone and went outside. They were alone. Things were going really more smoothly than anticipated. Hanzo put the bow back on the weapon rack. His face was still tense in concentration, his hair slightly falling in front of his face. “Follow me.” Hanzo was out of the room faster than McCree could keep up. They walked down into the main hall to a meeting room. There was a table placed in the middle. The room had dozens of lanterns adorning its ceiling. The Kumicho gestured him to take a seat. Hanzo wasn’t making any sounds when he walked. He walked up to the interface of a wall. It opened through his fingerprint recognition. It looked like he was taking out a drink for the both of them. If McCree’s research was correct, this was the moment where he would be accepted into the clan. Zaryanova entered the room. She sat down at the table diagonally across from him. Hanzo sat down in front of him. The bodyguard started to pour the sake down the glasses. Damn he hated sake, it just tasted bad. Zaryanova offered him his cup. He looked at the amber liquid. It looked expensive, smelled expensive, and surely would taste most foul. He sipped, Hanzo took most of it in one go. Their eyes crossed. The sly smile was back, adorning his face, making him look like everything had second intentions. Brown dark eyes that were telling a story he didn’t know the nature of, he noticed an earring on the left earlobe. Hanzo’s pale hand reached out toward McCree’s cup. Which they exchanged. McCree took the rest of the cup in. Hanzo laid his lips on the rim of the cup and drank the rest of its content. The Kumicho moved his head slightly as to enjoy the aftertaste, exposing his neck to the gunslinger. His thumb caressed the corner of his lips, moving the missed drop of sake to his tongue. McCree was hypnotized as the gesture felt purely sexual and sensual in nature. Hanzo then extended a hand. McCree was slightly out of it. Hanzo was toying with him. Throwing him again out of balance. He reached for the extended hand. “Welcome to the family, kobun.” A beep came from Zaryanova’s pocket. “The car is here,” she added and got up. He felt like he had to order his legs to move, his heart racing slightly faster. He tapped off his pants, he kept it down to shake his head and wake himself up, when he suddenly noticed something… different. Zaryanova had extended her hand toward the Kumicho. He had taken it. She had helped him up. It was strange that Hanzo had accepted this caring gesture so easily.

“We will be having a meeting with some of my associates.” They had returned to the car. Everybody was bowing when Hanzo had passed them. McCree had noticed that even the security officers at the gate had left everything to be able to greet the Kumicho. “I’m there to strike a deal with another merchant’s dealer working at the Lijiang tower. He seemed to have information we would like to purchase.” It must be pretty important if the head of the Shimada clan himself was downtown to regulate this affair, which looked quite trivial when hearing the synopsis of it. So what was the deal behind it? Hanamura was a busy city, and it wasn’t a surprise that when the car stopped they were in one of the most expensive districts. A server opened the door of the car. “This way,” another arrived to guide them through the skyscraper. Some people seemed to notice immediately when they arrived. The dinner was organised in the penthouse. Well he certainly felt outta place. This time they didn’t ask him to take off his hat or boots. But there were scans for weapons. Which he was allowed to keep bizarrely. The man doing the scan almost recoiled in terror as he had asked the question to make him remove his weapons only to get a dark stare from Hanzo. The man had showered him in apologies. Were there lots of guests? Was it busy? Maybe? Last time he had been to a reception such as this one, was when he had been invited with the whole deadlock gang. It had ended in some kind of fight. Zaryanova seemed kind of out of place as well. McCree scouted the crowd, there was no one he recognised. There was a buffet on the right, a fireplace at the far end of the room. A balcony, where some people were smoking and talking. There were small groups around high tables. A first old man came to greet them, another joined, a third. All extensively greeting Hanzo Shimada. Keeping up appearances as if they weren’t all crime lords they were talking about the weather, tournaments, even movies. One older lady arrived to Hanzo’s height. The Kumicho and Zaryanova shared a look. She laid a hand upon McCree’s shoulder. Had she put perfume on? He hadn’t noticed she smelled of roses until now. “This is the moment where you and I idle… Mingle? I think that’s what you Americans say?” Zaryanova was dismissing them. Hanzo was looking at them as if expecting him to leave as soon as possible. The older lady looked like she was from Chinese descent. Someone important? Zaryanova guided the both of them to the buffet. “Miss Wong has a distaste for group conversations.” McCree searched his memory, trying to recall the name Wong. Nothing came up. The buffet was mostly traditional food, dishes with seaweed, vegetables, salads, something that looked like lotus roots ect. He observed Zaryanova taking a plate, there were no omnics he noticed again.“Who is our contact?” He asked as his former evaluator was picking out from the various baked goods at the end of the table.“I don’t know, they’ll come to us more likely. If not directly to Kumicho himself.” McCree shrugged and decided to indulge himself and have a plate. If what they had to do was wait he could just as well have dinner. He took some salad, staying away from things he couldn’t identify. The squid was looking strange, he opted for a bit of grilled meat. The quantity was a mouthful. It would have looked like a Sunday BBQ if it hadn’t been overly made fancy this way. Zaryanova got caught in a conversation with other people.

And he suddenly felt like he was without supervision.

He decided to go to the balcony, to light up his cigar. Hanzo was still talking to the Wong lady. He seemed slightly annoyed at what he was hearing. McCree took some time to observe the Kumicho further. He actually looked older than he was. They were just a year apart. It was probably the price for being the head crime boss of a clan who dealt in assassinations and illegal arm dealings. Hanzo moved around a bit more, taking some food for himself and talking to other guests. The gunslinger noticed the Kumicho using both of his left and right hand equally. There was the beginning of a tattoo on his left wrist. And this ever flowing movement when he walked. It was really like Hanzo had been trained to move like an assassin. He probably had been one before being declared head of the clan Shimada. You needed to have the skill and the birth right to be the patriarch, the kumicho. It’s then when a glass shattered to the ground. In a moment of confusion nobody saw the shadow creeping up. McCree did, and he had unsheathed his gun to the man who had raised a blade to Hanzo’s throat. There was a cry of confusion from a few guests. The head of the Shimada clan had easily intercepted the blade with a hidden katana. Zaryanova arrived and punched the man into the buffet table. They had both seen the assassin coming. “Shall I shoot ‘em sir ?” The gunslinger asked. Hanzo made a gesture with his wrist. His face impassable, indifferent, almost even bored. “That won’t be necessary.” He wasn’t sheathing his gun just yet. The man seemed unconscious however. Zaryanova’s eyes were flickering with hate. She removed the man’s hood. “Is he dead?” She shook her head as she was taking the pulse. Her whole face was hardened with the will to kill. “Good, bring him to the headquarters. For questioning.” Two men dragged the unconscious man out of the room. Zaryanova and Hanzo were looking at each other as if they were having an unspoken dialogue. Her body language was on high alert. Her fists were balled. Her lips pressed against each other. Her cheeks slightly pink. McCree knew what that was. Her anger was fuelled by fear. He had seen the same thing on Jack Morrison’s face after there had been an attack on his squad where his partner had been part of. A few minutes after a complete silence someone started talking as if nothing had happened. The usual banter of voices rose again, while waiters started to clean up the mess. It’s then that a hand tugged at his sleeve. “Sir, a message for you?” A young girl was looking at him, she looked like a waiter. “Message from the Sombra collective.” The look on his face was a puzzled one. She was perhaps the contact they had been waiting for. It was a note, he took a look at it _. ‘The sector rises, the widow weaves her web. They are preparing.’_ Handwritten, in English. It sounded obscure and there was a purple sugar skull depicted on the bottom of the note. He looked up, the girl was gone. Hanzo and Zaryanova were nowhere to be seen. He interrupted a waiter passing by. “Where can I find Kumicho Hanzo Shimada and Miss Zaryanova?” The waiter seemed to think for a bit. “I saw them moving toward one of the other meeting rooms. Shall I accompany you?” He raised his hand to dismiss her. “I’ll do fine. Just point me in the right direction.” The lobby of rooms was a bit more extensive. And quieter. Looked like the incident had attracted all the people in the main room.

He looked around trying to make out where a possible conversation was coming from. The meeting room on the far right had a door that wasn’t quite shut. It was indeed his employer and his bodyguard talking. He walked up there quietly, hoping he could get snippets from the conversation they were having. There was sadly too much noise. However the spectacle in front of him was quite strange. For the first time he saw Zaryanova’s face relaxed, her green eyes lit up in ways he hadn’t considered ever to see. She was talking softly while looking down at Hanzo. They were close. Their bodies in their respective personal space. There was a ghost, a hint of emotion on Hanzo’s face. As if a crack had appeared into the shell of invulnerability the man had exhibited since the beginning of the evening. Her hand crept up to his forehead, she caressed a hair lock out of his face. McCree was taken aback by the literal intimate moment he was walking into. They seemed to be in their own bubble. In their own world. Hanzo had his arms crossed replying he was growing tired of waiting. She laughed, telling him he was an impatient man. McCree decided to knock on the door. “I think I got the intel you were waiting for.” He flashed the piece of paper to them. They didn’t seem disturbed by his entrance. Zaryanova walked up and took the paper from his hands. “It’s the message from the Sombra collective.” Hanzo looked satisfied, directing a sly smile toward McCree. “Then we have what we came here for.” They exited the room, the building. McCree following them closely by. He refused the ride home, feeling out of balance and full of questions. Wondering how on earth his admission had been so easy.

To be continued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are in total 3 fics planned each divided in several parts, this one is the first.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree is sent out on a mission, another opportunity to prove himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter idea was the whole starting point of this, I got inspired by this art[ by Lucidlikesthings, To be found here](http://lucidlikesthings.tumblr.com/post/160423330211/im-trash-and-ship-zarya-with-damn-near-everyone) check it out it's amazing.
> 
> My dearest Metamour made some art for this chapter [ it's NSFW, and is to be found here](https://vanilope-debauchery.tumblr.com/post/171805837266/a-late-gift-for-a-friend-inspired-by-their-yummy)
> 
>  
> 
> **Tags will change according to the parts that are getting uploaded**

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A few weeks passed. He had intercepted and smuggled, relied information and killed. His missions were most of the time with a team. But it didn’t look like he had to shoot them all dead when the mission came to an end. He had gotten a small apartment right outside Shimada village, with view on the castle. Accommodations given by Hanzo Shimada himself. At his biggest surprise the place wasn’t bugged. But the landlady was spying on him however. He had upgraded the apartment with cameras and other things, a complete communication scrambler being one of them. Nobody was able to record anything in the apartment because the devices would all shut down. McCree had made the small apartment into his base of operations. He hadn’t seen the head of the Shimada clan since the dinner, they had crossed in hallways but never talked. Zaryanova was, however, the one who was actively giving the mission briefings. There wasn’t much of a connection yet with the team. Most of them ignored him completely unless they were working on the same assignment. Only once had he broken the nose of one of them because they had insulted him. It was quite different from where he had come from. Teammates that could be friends, or at least enjoyable enough to get an ‘after work’ drink with. Things were lonely and rigid here. Zaryanova talked to him once in a while but always made it a point to stay professional. She usually complimented his performances and made jokes about being on the battlefield, but something was happening behind the scenes, for which he wasn’t close enough yet to know what it was entailing.   

He had in the meantime understood that the cameras in Shimada castle were settled inside the lamps. Someone had been repairing one that had gotten a lost arrow from a student in its mechanism. He was still working on mapping them all. He had yet to get clearance for the meeting rooms on the upper levels of the Castle. He was waiting for an opportunity to facilitate this. Sitting on his bed half-dressed in his underwear and a T-shirt, he was smoking a cigarette. His hands browsing, looking over the pictures his hidden recording device had recorded. They were from the dinner event with the assassination attempt. He hadn’t been able to put names on everyone yet. Lady Wong however, was the wife of the Hip Sing Tong leader, Ju-Zhang Wong. There had been a major drug bust in one of their warehouses the same day as the dinner. Whatever she and Hanzo had been talking about was still unknown to him. Two other men had been identified as local gang leaders. Nothing major from them, they were both stationed in different warehouses over the city. He hadn’t gotten any information about the Sombra collective. It seemed like it didn’t exist, erased from any official record. All he had found was that it meant shadow in Spanish. McCree had contacted an omnic hacker to look into it. How Hanzo had gotten in contact with the Sombra collective, how he had bought the cryptic information was still a complete mystery as well.

He laid down the pictures, having stared at them for too long. He glanced at the computer that he had installed. A full on projection of the analyses that he had run were busy flashing around. A small list of names was being selected out. He had gotten access to the street cameras of Hanamura, cross references were being made. McCree tapped out his cigarette. Results had been inconclusive. But he had only been here for less than a month. His contact with Hanzo being minimal at best and Zaryanova excluding him from certain pieces of information, it was normal he hadn’t understood yet how the Shimada clan was organised. The confusing part was that Zaryanova acted both as a bodyguard for Hanzo and as a first lieutenant. Maybe Hanzo liked to have his employees as close as family? Maybe there was more behind the scenes he wasn’t seeing. Maybe it had something to do with whatever relationship Hanzo and Zaryanova were maintaining. They were close. Every time the Kumicho travelled he had Zaryanova at his side. He had talked to one of the administration officers and they had said that the bodyguard had come in not long after Hanzo had become head of the Shimada clan. Maybe they had known each for longer than it seemed.

He lit another cigarette as his pager started to go off. Grunting with the effort of standing up, he reached out for his pants and fished the pager out of his pocket. A code flashed, he was summoned to the Shimada castle. It took him ten minutes to get dressed and to be out of the apartment. It was warmer outside for once. He coded a self-destruct mechanism if anyone tried to pry open his computer research. His hands were full of empty takeout boxes that he had stacked up in his kitchen, and threw them in the nearest bin. The streets looked busier, more people were out and the arcade was as noisy as ever. He had gotten a badge, and even waved hello to the security guards at the door. Which they returned, wishing him a good afternoon. There were students running around with weapons or jogging around the castle. Usually Zaryanova was to be found in one of the apartments above the armoury. He let a group of students pass him before going up. McCree reached the door to Zaryanova’s office, and found it closed. Two men told him that she wasn’t there but on the training ground behind the dojo. He went on his way. Zaryanova’s office was visibly guarded when she wasn’t there. Unless he used a grappling hook to get through the window on the other side of the building, there was no way to enter her office otherwise.

The dojo was busy and when he walked through the patio, Suzuki -the head medical officer- crossed his path. Her tiny glasses were sitting low on her nose. “Ah, McCree,” she was one of the few people who talked to him in more words than one sentence replies. “Out for a mission ?” McCree tipped his hat to her. “Surely will soon.” Suzuki looked at her data pad typing things in with one hand, “I have checked the sample you brought in. The lab results were negative, the person’s blood didn’t seem to exhibit any kind of disease and so forth, the toxicology test was negative as well. Apart from a slight iron deficiency, nothing that a meat dish couldn’t fix, it seems like the owner of the blood was just a healthy young man.” McCree nodded, “Thank you, doctor, can I have a full report on it sent in? Then I can rely it to Zaryanova.” She rearranged her glasses, looking up to him. “It will be done, good luck on your soon to be mission.” They exchanged a smile and both went their own way. He continued to the training ground behind the dojo. Voices were heard and as he came closer right around the corner, Zaryanova was leaning against the wall looking at the archery target practice. Her suit was English cut this time. The back of her hair trimmed shorter, her arms crossed. She seemed relaxed. He couldn’t help but notice the slight deformation around the shoulder era, where she was keeping her firearm at all times. Seemed like she was having two of those on every side today.

Hanzo was talking in Japanese to one of the students. McCree only registered some words that said, ‘mission’, ‘killing’ and ‘target’. His kimono was different than the one he usually wore, the left sleeve was shorter, and it was grey in colour. A dragon tattoo was peeking out from under it, which seemed to cover his forearm. He had attached his hair backwards showing the areas that were beginning to grey. The pupil bowed as the Kumicho continued his explanation. “How long has the training been going on?” Zaryanova turned her head to McCree. She checked her watch. “An hour,” she replied. “We’ll soon be done with this training.” Whether Hanzo had noticed the gunslinger arriving or not, the Kumicho wasn’t paying him any attention. Instead he focused on what his pupil was about to do. Which was shooting an arrow with a bow longer than half his size. The arrow lodged itself not too far off the centre, which didn’t seem to appeal to the head of the Shimada clan. McCree didn’t need to have a translation to understand a disappointed tone. The student bowed deeper down making an apology. Hanzo issued an order in Japanese and the four other students stopped their target practice. His voice low, one went over to remove the ‘badly’ shot arrow.  Zaryanova stood upright, her body language changing slightly. McCree frowned, wondering what was going on. Hanzo then lowered his left kimono sleeve; liberating his arm.

The tattoo was covering him from wrist to shoulder and started on his pectoral. McCree unconsciously trailed his eyes over the strong back muscles, the way they moved, the way the spine was slightly revealed, how the skin was exposed regardless of the cold air around them. The neck line was revealed as a short wind gushed through his hair, the ribbon in his hair moving like silk. The Kumicho stood tall and grounded. Hanzo extended his hand in a gracious movement. The student gave the bow he had just shot with. The archer aligned himself with the target. The same student held a quiver full of arrows to his teacher. Hanzo hand brushed the wood, the hand gesture delicate in its nature, his fingers closing around its end. McCree wished he had been closer somehow and unconsciously took a step forward. Zaryanova was being just as attentive to what was happening but they were not noticing each other. Hanzo pulled the bowstring, an arrow at its tip, he was holding a second one in the same hand. He drew the weapon toward the target. The skin of his back moved over the muscles, his shoulders straightened. McCree was hypnotised. A moment of silence. The sounds around the castle diminished as if there was nothing else. Hanzo released the arrow. It arrived in the exact centre of the target. Nobody dared to move. In total calmness and concentration Hanzo recharged his bow, putting the arrow in the arrow rest. He raised his weapon of choice once again. His eyes unmoving, Hanzo released the arrow. It pierced the second one, right in the middle, lodging itself right where the first arrow had been. McCree blinked once, twice, his mind not quite understanding what he just had seen. And he had seen it right. There were sounds of awe coming from the students as some of them walked up to the target to admire the deed. Hanzo turned his head toward the gunslinger. McCree felt goosebumps all over his arms. He had been holding his breath. The dark eyes made contact with his. McCree drowned, his heartrate picking up slightly. He needed a smoke. Zaryanova gritted something Russian between her teeth, but she had a smile on her face. Hanzo broke eye contact, his eyes shifting to Zaryanova and then back to McCree. He turned his back to address his pupils: “I accept nothing but the best, in battle there is no room for error. Never be a second best, be the best.”

McCree lit up a cigarette. Realising that the reason why Hanzo was talking in English was because the Kumicho wanted him to understand as well. The students nodded and bowed to him as he put the bow back in the weapon rack. McCree lowered his hat slightly, dragging from his cigarette, trying to clench down his eyeing toward the still partially unclothed collarbone Hanzo was showing. The Kumicho walked past him. “I would appreciate you not smoking on the training ground.” His voice was hard and McCree took out the cigarette from his mouth almost immediately. His spine shivering. “My apologies, sir.” Zaryanova joined Hanzo. McCree followed them. He crushed out his smoke against the nearest bin to throw it away. They were going back into the Shimada castle; as they took off their shoes, Hanzo laid a hand on Zaryanova’s arm. He whispered something in her ear. “It shall be done,” she replied. Hanzo took his leave without another look. McCree followed the first lieutenant up the stairs to the third floor. Zaryanova invited him to sit in the meeting room. A simple desk, drawers, chairs, there wasn’t much difference with Zaryanova’s office. Minus the framed pictures of her doing bodybuilding and winning various prices. “What will today’s mission entail?” He asked as Zaryanova was pouring herself a glass of water in one of the couches. “A drink? Water? Coffee?” she asked. He poured himself a coffee.

“The Kumicho decided to give you the briefing. This mission is important enough for him to make sure the information is passed on directly.” McCree sat back on the couch diagonally from Zaryanova. She was checking her phone. “I didn’t know sir Hanzo himself gave lessons to the students.” Zaryanova looked up at him, studiously looking at McCree. “I mean, I’m sure that the man has other things to do than to train recruits. I may be wrong, I ain’t no expert on how this is all workin’ here. Just wonderin’.” He was curious if she was going to take the bait. He was genuinely interested, but it was a good opportunity to discover more about Hanzo’s daily schedule. Which he so far knew nothing about.

“It has been a tradition for centuries, there are no other experts, Kumicho is the best archer and swordsman of the clan. A place he earned in blood and strength. He trains the ones that worthy. The elite ones. They represent the clan, in their abilities, aptitude and determination. Training with the Kumicho isn’t a game. You’re the best or you’re not. Very few fail the trials he imposes and the tests of strength he challenges you to do.” McCree had never seen Hanzo pick up a sword. There was something about this piece of information that was pointing toward… something. The detail sounded major and important. But he couldn’t put his finger on what it was yet. “Being crowned the best is an honour, an achievement. You’ll be trained to be the pride, a symbol of the clan, an assassin.” Zaryanova’s face beamed both with pride and challenge. As if long ago she had had similar goals and motivation. “I never saw you pick up a sword however, ma’am.” Her voice boomed out in laughter at his comment. It surprised him. It was the first time he had heard her laugh, ever. His lips broke a smile. “A sword? I think that the only thing close to it I ever used is a knife. In boot camp we used to train with actual knives and have illegal ring fights with them to blow off steam.” She pointed toward her eyebrow, “It’s how I got this.” She traced her scar with her fingers. “Swords are long, too encumbering, it takes another skill to wield them. Give me something with real firepower, something that shoots.” She playfully balled her fist toward him smiling. Zaryanova seemed passionate, happy by the subject. Just like a soldier would. McCree’s heartrate rose slightly. Zaryanova was an attractive woman when she let her herself be led into conversation about a subject she liked. Her eyes shone of interest, her body movements grew more excited and more relaxed. She usually had a stiffer attitude. “I think you would agree.” The question was obviously directed toward him. He seemed to consider. He indeed preferred guns, “Swords and bows are a bit old fashioned to me.” Mid-sentence the sliding door opened to give place to Hanzo who had taken his time to change into his usual kimono. “And yet, I would best you.” McCree rose an eyebrow at the comment. The Kumicho had let his hair loose once again. He calculated the appropriate course of action. Being too defensive would make him look like a fool. Too attacking would anger the Kumicho. And his boss was obviously waiting for a reply to his comment. “I’m sure we’ll be able to test that out one day. To my knowledge nothin’ is faster than a bullet.” Hanzo’s eyes, a sly smile, “Don’t be too eager, I don’t want to kill you just yet.” The arrogance in his voice woke up a feeling of rebellion in McCree. As if he wanted to prove the man wrong. To prove he was the man’s equal. It was almost reeling. “So I heard you have a new mission for me.” Hanzo approached Zaryanova and gave her the data pads he was holding. “That is exact.”

Zaryanova took a look and gave McCree a data pad. Hanzo circled the couches and sat down on the one opposite to McCree. “This is a mission I would qualify as both dangerous and challenging.” The data pad seemed to be full of ground plans of a building. The floors were both underground and above the surface. He seemed to recall the logo on the main frame. “I want you to recuperate something very peculiar.” Zaryanova put down the data pad and projected in big an image of a snowflake shaped device. McCree moved closer to the projection to study the details. “What is that?” Hanzo crossed his arms, “Something very valuable that might change the tide of an upcoming war.” Cryptic as always. “So is it just a good simple pickup mission? What’s the catch, there is one, otherwise you wouldn’t ask me.” Zaryanova filled in: “You’ll have to infiltrate the Vishkar Corporation as a logistic employee. Someone will have left a case in a cabinet closet on the third underground floor.” Hanzo gestured toward the wall. “Zarya if you please…” Zaryanova got up and went to the wall typing something into the interface. She took a small box out of the safe. She extended it to Hanzo. “Do you know what this is Mister McCree ?” Hanzo gave him the box to open it. There was a small device enclosed into a stud earring. “What ’s that? A tracker?” He had never seen anything like it. “A DNA scrambler.” He looked up to Zaryanova, how was this possible. “A DNA scrambler? Does it change your DNA readings?” Zaryanova crossed her arms smiling, “Almost… this copies any DNA reading and displays it as your own. It hides you from any infrared reading at will if you activate it as such. You’re like a ghost. The machines won’t see you either.” He whistled in admiration. Not yet daring to touch it, this tech was incredibly dangerous and powerful, a bit terrifying even. He had never seen anything alike.

Hanzo took the conversation over, his voice calm, his eyes studying the gunslinger by every inch. “For this operation to succeed, you’ll have no other devices on you.” McCree couldn’t keep the surprise from appearing on his face. No devices? Not even a commlink? Was this another test? And why was this happening now? Had he really earned enough trust already to do this? To say he was slightly startled by the mission parameters was an understatement. “No, tracking? No microphone? An operation completely off the grid?” The Kumicho cocked his head to the side, his hair falling slightly towards his collarbone, exposing his neck, his hand gesturing toward the package McCree was supposed to recuperate. “Are you telling me you are unable to do this?” The gunslinger shook his head, not jumping into a defensive position just yet. “Ain’t saying that either.” He defied Hanzo’s scrutinizing eyes, or tried to, this mission was made for his abilities. He’d prove it. “You’ll be flying with one of my private jets, the flight takes 4 hours. You’ll be dropped and picked up at two different spots in the city.” The Kumicho stood up, which McCree mimicked. “Zarya will equip you with the necessary equipment in the armoury. She will teach you how to use the cloaking device properly. One more thing…” Hanzo crossed his arms. “You will not talk about this mission to anyone, you won’t reveal the existence of any tech I have given you, you will not be seen or heard by anyone. This mission is secret and I wish it to remain so.” Somehow that made McCree’s spine shiver, he bowed, avoiding Hanzo’s gaze. The Kumicho’s voice was cautionary, his tone menacing. It didn’t intimidate the gunslinger, but it made him vigilant. “Can’t wait to get started then.” He didn’t extend a hand, knowing Hanzo wouldn’t take it. Zaryanova was right behind him when he reached the door. The Kumicho rose his voice one last time.

“Mister McCree, I trust you to bring back this tech as it was. If there is any chance I even suspect you are intending to sell or copy what I have entrusted you…” McCree felt the urge to turn around to face the man, but knew that it could be interpreted as being defiant. So he doubled up his desire and just looked at the sliding door. “…you will feel the wrath of the Dragon, I’m a man without mercy, you don’t want to make an enemy out of me.” The hairs on the gunslinger’s neck rose, turning himself slightly to address the Kumicho without wanting to make contact with the piercing brown eyes. “There ain’t a chance in hell I’ll be doing that. I’ll even bring it back wrapped with a nice red bow if you want, sir.” He left the room. Not leaving Hanzo the chance to comment on his last sentence. Was this the reason why Hanzo had given the briefing himself? To keep everything off record? The head of the Shimada clan was playing a game on a level McCree wasn’t understanding whatsoever. He followed Zaryanova to the armoury.

\--

He had gotten a badge, fake glasses, even a brand new set of shoes. The disguise was the whole deal and damn he looked ridiculous. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail and slicked out with some gel. Zaryanova had mocked him, saying he looked like a schoolboy with a beard that had barely grown up. Well, she was damn right. He had also stated that he would ditch everything what he was wearing as quickly as he could when the mission was over. It didn’t seem to matter if he returned anything but the tech either. The flight had taken the exact time that Hanzo had told him it would. Shimada clan were rich bastards like that, expensive tech, expensive private jets. At least what had toned down his irritation was the small discreet car that had waited for pick up. It was revolting enough that most of Utopaea was constructed through slavery and underpaid workers. Nothing you would write to your mama about. Back in Santa Fe he had grown up in a small ranch with little to worry about until the omnic crisis had driven him and his family out. When his mama died he had become a bounty hunter, a smuggler, now a gun for hire. He felt irritated at the sight of poverty. Utopaea couldn’t hide it under the layer of paint the architects had created. The car had stopped a few blocks away from the Vishkar Corporation building. He had been thoroughly scanned and all had gone perfectly well. There had been no eye contact with anyone and with relief there had been no omnic amongst his supposed co-workers either. Intel had probably cross checked before sending him into this mission.

Everyone had received a data pad with the planning. He had to play pretend at least for the first hour since he wasn’t alone for the first part. There was a younger girl working with him. The music in her ears was just loud. She seemed totally indifferent to everything around her. She must have been working here a couple of years already, she had her own way of doing things. She started from the back of the room, the surfaces first, then behind the desks, then the floor. McCree had never swooped a broom in his life and the whole ordeal looked complicated so he just spent some time dusting off stuff. At least he knew that the blue coloured liquid in the spray was soap and the pink was disinfectant. There was nobody else around in the corridors apart from the logistics team. There didn’t seem to be any security guards in the upper levels of the building. “Hey, d’ya mind if I take the next floor already? Well if I’d know how to get there.” The girl looked at him and shrugged. She didn’t seem to care. “Just take the next floor through the elevator for the personnel,” she replied in a thick accent. Her tone was clear on the fact she thought him stupid. McCree waved her thank you, trying to play the part of the shy embarrassed employee.

He took the elevator up, there nobody was in his line of sight. He could proceed at ease. The plan was that he would stash away the ‘work trolley’ in the staircase well and go to the underground levels. As expected it was dark. One yellow light was illuminating the door that indicated he was on the second floor up. As expected, the outside of the building was rich and imposing, while the behind the scenes was practical and unimpressive. There was however perfect symmetry, the energy nodes faintly illuminated the place with their blue colours and their humming was resonating in the walls. McCree took off the fake glasses. This whole time he had been distracted by the rim. How people could stand seeing through them was still a mystery to him. Down the stairs he went. The light diminished even more. He felt through his veins that he was starting to be underground. The air was thicker, the reverberation of sound louder. It felt stale and imprisoning. The door opened with the corrupted swipe key he had gotten. The door opened in a click. He tuned up his DNA scrambler. It was like a transparent pinkish shield was covering the surface of his skin. He would be invisible as of now. Unless someone obviously showed up. It was not like he was physically invisible. It was already a miracle this DNA scrambler worked for longer than a few minutes. Even Overwatch didn’t possess this kind of technology.

He let his memory guide him. He had spent his time on the plane memorizing the ground plans. It felt new to walk around without fear of detection. There was a constant flashing light swiping over the floor. It was probably a constant scanning mechanism. Sentry turrets were activating but they didn’t seem to be able to pin point where he was. The hallways were small, the division he was infiltrating was clearly not meant to have many employees running around. One corridor, then the next, this maze had a lot of wall interfaces. But surely they were locked with a biometric system. McCree felt still quite unsafe, he usually preferred to know the tech thoroughly before going on missions. He would soon reach the area when suddenly he heard voices. Fuck, there was supposed to be no-one around here for at least another half hour. His heartrate sped up. He had to think quickly. He looked around and found there was only one way out. McCree shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, knowing his steps would be less noisy and drowned out by the continuous scanner on the floor. The voices were talking in Hindi. No, it was best if he just ran. One corridor to the right, he would reach the door. The voices were coming closer. His hand was on the door knob. The steps were echoing right around the corner. He opened the door, closed right behind him, the lights sprung on. Shit he hadn’t expected that. Think quickly, there were tables, he could take cover.

The door opened, McCree was sitting down against the wall, controlling his breathing. He closed his eyes knowing that the omnic would see if anything moved the slightest. They hummed pensively. Their human colleague was making an inquiry. McCree didn’t pray often but this time he hoped for bloody fucking Mary’s sake that the colleague wouldn’t enter the room. The omnic’s head turned to the gunslinger. Shit, fuck, don’t fucking move. It felt like the omnic was right looking in his direction. McCree regretted not having found a way to bring his peacekeeper. He should have insisted. Forced Zaryanova to comply with his request for bringing a gun. A metallic sigh. McCree toned down his urge to look up, trying to blend into the wall as much as he could. There was another exchange of words in Hindi. Were they concluding there was no one in the room? It seemed so. The omnic turned around to leave. Their metallic steps resonated behind them. With a handclap the lights were out. McCree was left in the dark. He sat there, unmoving, until the sound of steps disappeared.

He exhaled soundly, the light sprung back on. McCree got up, slightly irritated. The faster he was done with this ordeal, the faster he could get out to have a cigarette. He felt way too naked without his guns. At least the item he was supposed to recuperate was in the next room. He glanced at the boxes full of empty vials before moving on. The next room was just the same. Full of boxes on top of tables. Hidden between them however: a suitcase. Rather big. Upon lifting it felt empty. What the hell had Hanzo asked him to recuperate? The snowflake device looked like it would weight more than one an arm’s strength. Hopefully it wasn’t a setup. He got out. Walking through the hallways the scanning motion on the floor drowning out the noise he made. McCree quickly took the flight of stairs. It had taken too fucking long. He hid the suitcase between the bins of his trolley. When he swiped the key to open the staircase door he had the unpleasant surprise that his presumed colleague was looking at him disapprovingly from the other side of the hallway. He shrugged. She looked at him disdain. “Listen, it’s my last day.” She groaned irritated at his comment. “You won’t have to work with me ever again. I’m a slack off.” McCree tried to charm her with a smile. Her face didn’t budge. “Well, I’ll just get started, then.” He took out his swipe key and went into the first office to his left. Thank you Mary he at least only had another hour to go before he was on his plane back to Hanamura.

\--

It was a relief to be out of that building. To get that first cigarette as he walked away. To throw the fake glasses into the trash. The suitcase was perfectly secured under his arm and the car was exactly where it was briefed it would pick him up. He lit another cigarette while being driven to the private landing zone where the jet was waiting for him. He glanced at the suitcase; what on earth had he picked up? Hopefully he would be able to make a scan of the inside before the delivery to the Kumicho. It was somewhere past three O’ clock when he set foot in Hanamura village. Half an hour later he was in the shower. He had set up small scanners on the suitcase. The computer was recreating a report of it on one of the screens. McCree got back into his own clothes and body armour. The collection of data was almost done as he lit his cigar. Normally the castle wasn’t as busy at this time of night. Maybe he had a shot at getting into Zaryanova’s office to bug the place tonight. He gathered up the gear: Three bugs, a grappling hook, a video capturing device and of course lock picks to slide open the window. It was too dangerous to hack her laptop just yet; He strapped down the hacking and activation interface around his arm. He decided to take the suitcase along once the scanning was done. In case he would be questioned why he was at the castle, he would just say he was ready to deliver. McCree ran for a last time the damp towel through his hair. He was good to go.

The winds were gushing through the open arch. A small greeting to the door guards, he announced he was up to meet Zaryanova. They let him pass. There weren’t many people outside. The plan of attack was first to deliver the suitcase to the demanded floor in the upper levels of the dojo. Zaryanova had given him codes that would work only once on the doors and the safe he was supposed to deposit everything in. So he just did that. Nobody seemed to budge since he had clearance codes. When he went down he stopped one of the other yakuza who was going up. “Do you know if Miss Zaryanova is in her office?” McCree asked, the guy seemed visibly annoyed he had been interrupted by him. McCree had put his hand on the guy’s shoulder to do so. “I don’t know, I think she was in a meeting with the Kumicho and with big brother Makishima.” The broken English was understandable enough for McCree. Upon still seeing the death stare his supposed little brother was giving him, McCree stopped touching the shoulder he was holding. “They have been meeting for a few hours now.” The gunslinger nodded. It meant Zaryanova’s office was free to access. Things were aligning perfectly. He thanked the Yakuza in Japanese who seemed unmoved at his attempt to speak the language. At least there hadn’t been a snide comment.

McCree made his way down. He would carefully slip behind the armoury to use the grappling hook. Nobody was noticing him. He put down two trackers on the wall right behind a crease in the wood. If anyone were to cross it, he would get a signal on the interface on his forearm. McCree lit up his cigar. There was no light in Zaryanova’s office. He leaned against the wall. Settling the fumes in his mouth before exhaling them. Inhale, exhale. His eyes scouted the landscape. You couldn’t see the Mount Fuji at this time of night. The nightly urban lights of Hanamura illuminating the landscape were pretty to look at however. It reminded him of Lijang in China, a place he had only been able to visit twice. With his second drag he scratched his cigar out. He would light it later on again so that some witnesses saw him smoking it. Right now he really needed it to gather up the courage. He positioned himself right beneath the window to use the grappling hook. He fastened the cable right at his belt and pushed the button to hurl him up. The traction of the hook was pretty violent if you weren’t used to it. “Don’t look down, you idiot,” he muttered to himself as he took out the lock picks. But his instinct told to just try to push on the window. The window slid sideways easily. Well that was a piece of some good ol’ piece of cake. People often forgot to lock their damn windows. He entered the office almost effortlessly. As long as he didn’t look down. His eyes had quite adjusted to the darkness already.

Placements, he had thought of them. One under the desk. In a crease of the wood. The microphones were hardly recognisable as such. Especially since they looked like small sticky stones; a second one behind the flower pot next to the door. It would also permit to hear conversations from outside. The third in the crook of the inside of the table where the couches were. He decided to put the video recording device right above one of the paintings Zaryanova had hung next to the door. He hadn’t noticed it until now and McCree had been in the bodyguard’s office countless of times. The device was so small you had to be right next to it to see it. The only thing that was left to do was activate and synchronise them all. A link was easily made. The blue dots on his interface appeared one by one. Right as the synchronisation started another bleep sounded in the room. Shit someone was right around the corner. He had to get out of there as fast as possible. He paused the synchronisation to make his way around the office without his cable knocking anything over. The beep was becoming more instantaneous; the person around the corner had passed the first tracker. He was suspended in the air closing the window when the second tracker started to beep. He closed his eyes as he hurled himself down. Fuck he would have preferred to have taken this time. His head was spinning as he came in contact with the ground. The hurling down had just been too much like falling down. He detached the hook from the roof. McCree sat down sprawling a leg forward. He had just lit his cigarette when the intruder came around the corner.

They were startled seeing him, just two guards taking a smoke break. They walked up to him. “You got a lighter?” McCree gave them his zippo. It felt hard to look relaxed and laid back. The feeling of dread still loomed over him. His guts still wrenched at the feeling of coming down at that high speed. The cigarette was helping him though. Both guards were having their conversation in Russian. They were usually posted outside of Zaryanova’s office. McCree dared to ask: “Is the ma’am back from her meeting?” One of the guards had some kind of smile the gunslinger couldn’t identify, sly? Mocking? Arrogant? “She decided that her office didn’t need guarding tonight. Probably because she and the Boss tend to do a debriefing after a meeting with the _Avtoritet_.” McCree assumed the Russian meant the lieutenants with that word. “I’d hoped to be able talk to her.” The guards exchanged a look, “You are gonna have to come tomorrow. Because she is already upstairs.” McCree clenched his jaw. He had to synchronise his bugs as soon as possible. This was a chance he couldn’t just not take. If he was quick he probably could still gather intel on the meeting the Kumicho had with his lieutenants. Trying not to rise any suspicion by just standing up and leaving, he finished his cigarette trying to act nonchalant. They greeted him when McCree bid them goodnight.

The guy responsible of the armoury didn’t bat an eye when McCree entered. He was busy on his phone looking at what apparently was a football match, cursing. The opportunity was almost too good to be true. The gunslinger put down another tracker right behind the corner initiating the alarm as a vibration. McCree made his way carefully up the stairs. His steps were as silent as possible. If the Kumicho and Zaryanova were indeed in the office it was really in his best interest to not be spotted. Apart from saying he was just a careful man who liked to know who and what he worked for, he had no other excuse to give. He crouched right next to the slightly ajar door. The blue dots on his interface appeared one by one. The point of the synchronising was also to cloak them from any radar that would reveal he had bugged the place. The gunslinger typed in his access code. As he pushed the button to resume, he noticed something strange.

It was quite silent in the office, no voices were heard. Apart from that… rhythmical… thudding sound? He frowned, his heartbeat speeding up. That wasn’t a foreign noise. His eyes trailed on the ground on the patterns of wood. One thud was louder than the other. McCree squeezed his eyes shut. Leaning against the wall. There had been a sigh right after that. Another and then another. The door wasn’t completely shut. Fuck, why wasn’t the door shut? He looked at his interface. The synchronising was only at 6%. Whispers emerging from the office. McCree inhaled and exhaled, feeling his body heat rising. His groin reacted to the sounds. A thud, a moan, another thud, a whimper. Maybe he was just imagining things, like when he had shared student rooms with a buddy of his. His friend had just been trying to break nuts over a table and not been fucking his girlfriend in the next room. Zaryanova’s desk was rocking on the floor. The Kumicho and his bodyguard were close. That much he had gathered. He wasn’t blind. But it hadn’t meant they were fucking. Maybe he should just take a look. McCree sat down on his knees, his hands against the wall. He froze. His heart skipping a beat, his breath stuck in his throat. Hanzo splayed over Zaryanova’s desk. His kimono dishevelled. His hair was hanging loose over the side. His tattooed arm grabbed the rim of the desk, the other grabbed the corner above his shoulder. His eyes closed, his lips were slightly parted. The rising and falling of his chest was mesmerising. Hanzo’s legs were spread out; Zaryanova’s hand on one of them gave her better access. The Kumicho displayed an expression of bliss and a restfulness McCree would never have guessed it ever could have shown. Her face was frowned concentration as her hip motions moved their bodies together. The uncapped bottle of lubricant next to the lit desk lamp threatened to fall over. Sweat beading over her face, she grunted. Rocking back and forth inside of her lover. Hanzo exhaled soundly, Zaryanova’s dog tags scarping over his torso as she reached down for a kiss. She moaned. Digging her nails into the Kumicho’s leg as she pounded into him. McCree’s own lips parted unconsciously as well as he swallowed down. His erection started to painfully constrict against his trousers.

Hanzo’s tattooed arm reached for the back of her head, to bury his fingers in her hair. McCree felt himself just getting harder at the obscene display of tongues as the two shared a wet kiss. She whispered in his ear, McCree couldn’t hear what. The flush on her cheeks. Her half closed eyes. Her nipples were probably hard in arousal under the dark blue sports bra she was wearing. McCree moved his hands as if he were cupping her breasts. Her hip movement grew faster, stronger. Her hand disappeared between them, her motions jacking off Hanzo’s cock. The Kumicho groaned into her lips. McCree was lost in the idea, not knowing who he would rather be in this fantasy. Naturally he toyed with the idea to just make himself known. To join. Like in porn movies. Fuck it was wrong, so fucking wrong. McCree’s hand tried to readjust his hard on, knowing it wouldn’t help. The only thing that would help was if he beat off, right there, right now. Hanzo’s body was strained, the Kumicho exhaled again deeply at the back of his throat, Zaryanova still whispered things in his ear. Her hand worked away between them. McCree felt himself slightly mimicking the thrusts he was seeing. He was so fucking damn aroused.

The interface on his arm vibrated. Shit, he tore away his gaze from the scenery in front of him. ‘Synchronisation completed’ was displayed in green letters. Like in shock, he stared at the interface as if it hadn’t been there before. The crash to reality was almost leaving him breathless. He shouldn’t have watched, that hadn’t been his purpose here. He shook his head, trying to drown out the noises coming from the office. He had to leave to get the bugs linked to his computer. He staggered himself up. His knees feeling numb by the voyeuristic position he had been in. Play time was fucking over. He was going leaving, right now. And he would take the hell of a cold shower once home.

To be continued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:  
> Zarya called Hanzo a show off in Russian at the target practice. 
> 
> Here is part 2, took me quite some time because of holiday season. I hope you guys enjoyed it. I decided to add a third part to this fic before moving on to the second fic that is part of this series. 
> 
> Have a nice day !


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree gets entangled in even more complicated Yakuza shenanigans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relevant art for the inspiration is still from [Lucidlikesthings, To be found here](http://lucidlikesthings.tumblr.com/post/160423330211/im-trash-and-ship-zarya-with-damn-near-everyone)
> 
> **There is more sexual content ahead in this chapter, trigger warnings would be violence (and glorification of violence) and mentions of sexism.**

\--

He turned upon himself. His hair falling over his eyes again, his face half buried in his way too hard pillow. He should just give up. The sun hadn’t even risen and yet he was unable to go back to sleep. The clock displayed the mere numbers of 6AM. A groan crossed his lips. Maybe he should just drag himself out of the bed, do something. Going to the gym might be a good idea. He hadn’t gone in a while. It had been part of his routine before coming here. McCree sat up on the edge of his bed, rubbing his sore eyes. Gravity pulled at his body while he got up. His reaction time was still too slow to his liking. He went over to the pot of cold coffee in his kitchen. He drained a full cup in one go. The horrible aftertaste made him regret his decision almost immediately. He couldn’t hold back a grunt of disgust. Ten minutes later he was leaving the apartment, sports bag on his shoulder, cigarette in mouth, the wind softly blowing its ashes away.

He hadn’t expected there to be more than a few people upon his arrival. It turned out to be quite busy. There were some people he recognised from the castle, others were probably civilian customers. He flexed the muscles of his back, feeling them protest already, he hadn’t worked out properly in months. With a sigh he decided it was probably best to warm up by hitting the treadmill first. McCree popped out his music earbuds. There was something religiously peaceful about running. Just running. The first minutes he had still been paying attention to everything. Past the five next ones his muscle memory took over, letting the music carry him in his movements. His mind wandered toward his mama, it always did. A young woman whose stubbornness had made him the man he was today. He always recalled the particular moment where she was in the kitchen and making some sort of apple pie. She had sent him out several times to get more apples as she messed up pie after pie. He remembered laughing and how he had dared his sister at how many apples they could both carry with their arms. How when mama had succeeded to bake the apples more properly, the pastry around the apples had been awful. How they had decided to eat caramelised apples as dinner instead. How the next day they were driven out of the ranch. The omnics had been only a few miles away from their home, bombarding everything on their way. The last thought made him slow down so he signalled the interface to go slower. It had been a great day, the day before everything had turned to ruin, the last day his sister and father had drawn breath.

He was walking now, his hand ruffled his hair, shaking away possible underlying stress that had woken up in him. He had run a bit longer than he had intended to. He looked around thinking of what to do next. His usual routine had included every exercise. But honestly he didn’t feel like doing a full body workout. He walked over to the mats, putting his water bottle and towel right next to them. He decided to go for some push ups. As McCree’s chest touched the floor a third time, a flash of pink appeared in his vision. The gunslinger halted as Zaryanova took place right next to him. She smiled at him and started her own push ups. It wasn’t that surprising to see Zaryanova around here. But she usually didn’t approach him in such a casual context. – An echo of her moaning reverberated through his mind as she thrust herself deeper into her lover – “Already quitting, McCree?” The gunslinger observed the blackwork tattoo that went from her elbow to her wrist, it was usually hidden by her suits. He hadn’t taken the time to admire it last time he saw her. Her shoulder tattoo read the number 512. Her muscles tensed underneath her pushup movements. “Only just startin’.” He positioned himself to join her in the exercise. He directed his concentration toward the floor, trying to drive away any intrusive thoughts.

The goosebumps on his forearms went away gradually, but he was so very aware she was right next to him. Exhaling, inhaling. He should be concentrated on his own breathing; he wasn’t counting, the sound of her breathing was too distracting. Zaryanova switched positions, she hardened her whole body. One hand against the mat, her tank top read: ‘Strong as a mountain’, she stood unmoving on her side. Her muscles tensed under the planking. Her dog tags were shuffled into her clothes. It seemed like she rarely parted with them. He considered joining her in planking but he really didn’t have that kind of muscles. He did two more push ups before switching out. McCree felt her eyes trailing over him. She started a series of jumping jacks when he checked the weights of the dumbbells. McCree briefly wondered why Zaryanova was looking so intently at him, her green eyes were gleaming with curiosity, until he finally understood. He laid his dominant knee on the bench for his triceps workout. Keeping his back straight, he was perfectly aware that Zaryanova was eyeing his ass. She had even switched out into stretching to get a better look. He almost snorted at the casual stance Zaryanova was taking. If the first lieutenant wanted to play this game he was going to play back harder. After all they were already tiptoeing around each other from time to time. McCree had two options: show off, or not. He decided to go for the latter since there is nothing as unsexy as a torn muscle born out of trying too hard. Besides, when he looked at her and winked, she smiled. Zaryanova was just appreciating the view and not evaluating his strength.

The exercise started to wear out on his body as perspiration stuck to his brow. He inhaled and exhaled, feeling the strain on his muscles as he raised the dumbbell once more. It had indeed been too long since he had worked out. This was literally only half of what his usual routine was. He was going to stop there. As he stretched his back, he was quite aware of the pool of sweat that had gathered on his chest and lower back. His T-shirt was clinging to him like a second skin. “Here.” Zaryanova’s Russian accent attracted his attention. She was extending a bottle of water to him. Her nails were painted pink. He accepted the bottle. “Thank you.” He drank, letting the liquid cool off his head. Yeah, he’d buy another one later, after the shower. Zaryanova had her arms crossed and was standing back, resting on one foot. He wiped the droplets off his lips with the back of his hand. “I’m off to the bench press, I need a spotter. You up?” Zaryanova’s side smile was curious to him. It seemed like she was seeking friendship. He sponged off the sweat with his towel. “Sure, happy to help.” She turned around, giving him a sign that he should follow.

\--

Well that was distracting, of course it would be. He tried to keep his eyes on the weights. How much was that woman even able to lift? It was without effort. She just… did it. As if she wasn’t lifting a barbell worth his own weight right under his nose. “Impressive, Ma’am.” Sweat was beading over her forehead, it mingled with the pink locks of her hair. Her lips were tense in concentration. She was on the fourth set of five already. “That breathing is right on point.” She laid the barbell down on a rack, “Giving up already, lightweight?” He said to her playfully. Her green eyes shot a glare at him, but she smirked, “Wouldn’t dream of it, McCree.” It made his pulse quicken. She looked beautiful, defying, powerful. They both counted together and released the barbell again. She groaned and went in for the lift.

Zaryanova did one more extra set than planned. And when they both brought back the barbell onto the rack, she slumped a bit. Her breathing was steady, her lips slightly parted, her face flushed. Even though he was supposed to be focused, McCree’s eyes now trailed over her face, her stomach, her thighs. Sweat was dripping down her body, her bodily scent intoxicating, her figure relaxed and exhausted. Did she irradiate the same raw spent energy after sex as well? “That was quite the lifting. You got that grip right on point, Ma’am.” She scoffed and moved from under the rack. He gave her a towel. “I’m pretty skilled with my hands, Mister Jesse McCree.” The subtext was pretty clear, the idea slashed a pang of desire to his groin. He shifted his weight and laughed: “I don’t doubt for a second, Ma’am. A steady grip is as important as the movements.” – She groans, her hands on her lover’s cock, Hanzo sighs… – “And so is a good thrust up,” she replied, sponging away the sweat on her forehead. “I’m going to take my leave, we’ll see each other at the castle?” He proposed, shifting on his other leg. “I’m going to finish up here. Let’s leave together.” McCree frowned but nodded. Zaryanova had probably in mind she wanted to make an assessment off records on the last mission he had carried out, because she usually didn’t do the socialising part. “Alright see you in 20 minutes.” He made his way to the showers. McCree wanted her hands on his chest, his nipples, his stomach. Urgh. He put his hands against the wall and turned the shower to cold. Fuck, be damned.

\--

They grabbed a coffee-to-go together. Zaryanova seemed quite relaxed and was bantering about how she had never seen him around the gym until now; she had the habit to go almost every morning for an hour or two. With the small context she gave, it was clear that just like him she was a light sleeper. Might be some remains from the days at the army. He himself had never lost the habit to sleep light either. “We’re having a celebration today.” Zaryanova sipped her coffee, her sunglasses were hiding her eyes. “Nothing too fancy, but fancy enough that the Kumicho wants you blending into the family. He has sent you clothes to dress yourself up with.” He really hoped it wasn’t going to be a tacky suit. Too many Yakuza were wearing tacky suits, especially when they combined them with shirts that were a complete eyesore. “Is there anything else I need to be careful about, Ma’am?” She took another swig of her coffee, her throat swallowing the liquid. “Don’t be under the illusion that you’ll be at ease.” She was accompanying him back to his apartment. “The Kumicho keeps them in check and consequences are severe if they step out of line. But they’ll test the limits.” They stopped in front of the door. She threw away her empty mug. “We need to be on our best behaviour.” He crossed his arms, sharing a look with Zaryanova’s green eyes. That usually meant that it wasn’t just a mundane celebration, but a game of chess that was going to be played through subtle conversation and subtext that could break reputations. Damn he hated politics. “I’ll be good a good boy, Ma’am, you can count ‘n me.” It was meant as a joke but they both understood what she had said was a serious matter. “I’ll leave you to it, at 14.00 I want you at the castle to welcome our guests.”

Zaryanova left. As he opened the apartment door, the landlady rushed toward him, talking fast in Japanese as she pushed a clothes hanger with the dress clothes in his hands and hushed him up the stairs while bowing. Back in the apartment he lowered the zipper. At least it was a black suit, a three piece black suit. He took it out. It was a suit that was made to his measurements, the bastards had even given him shoes to match it all. He stared at his reflection in the bathroom, it would look good on him. He changed. A small box was given with the garments. It was a pin. The symbol of the Shimada-clan, two dragons eating each other’s tail. Zaryanova had the same one attached on the lapel of every suit she wore. McCree gave himself another look in the mirror. He would indeed fit right in. He dressed himself. He checked his whole outfit one last time in the mirror and opened the first two buttons of his shirt. Melancholy shot him in the heart as his eyes settled on the golden necklace peeking out from behind the tissue of his clothes. His fingers traced the small cross on his chest, he never took it off, since it was all he had left from his Mama. He shook away thoughts that would just take him far away into the past. He wouldn’t let them, his head was needed in the game.

McCree took off the jacket and grabbed a shoulder harness to holster his peacekeeper. There wasn’t a chance in hell he would leave without his gun today. If there was indeed a celebration of some sort with important guests, he would better be safe than sorry. He fished out of his luggage a small microphone which he stuck behind the pin on his lapel, discreet and unseen since it was wireless. If any important conversation happened, he would be able to create transcripts in case he needed it. Without a doubt he crunched an unopened pack of cigarettes in his side pocket and certainly didn’t forget his cigar case. All set and ready he left the apartment. The security was heavier this time. He got personally checked at the gate of the castle. The security guard was scanning him around the hips. Zaryanova appeared, she had changed into a white suit. With a hand gesture she told him to come over. She was busy on a datapad. McCree smiled at the security officer. “Good to go?” he asked. The woman nodded as she finished checking him for heavy weapons.

“Seems like our tailor did some impressive work.” The first lieutenant wasn’t looking at him as she spoke. “I must say, Ma’am, white suits you the best indeed.” He was sure she raised an eyebrow behind her sunglasses. “Well, one does have to look the part in equal measure to our colleagues.” He smiled at her, crossing his arms. Her pastel shirt wasn’t completely buttoned up either. She had actually an earpiece commlink in. “Our tailor especially knows how to work the lower cuts. Leaving room for movement around the legs and hips.” Was she complimenting his ass? “Refined sewing at the bottom parts can make or break a suit. Wouldn’t you agree, mister McCree ? I’m glad to see that your refined sewing make you look quite fitting-in.” She definitely was complimenting his ass. He shifted his weight onto his other leg, ready to reply to her, when a Russian man entered and attracted her attention. They exchanged a few words. He wanted to mull over his comeback but Zaryanova’s facial expression shifted to a hard and closed off one. Her voice was so much lower when she spoke Russian.

“Follow me,” she ordered the gunslinger. They walked to the gate. McCree put his hands in his pockets. A car had stopped and people were getting out. Whispers echoed all around. The word, aniki, ‘big brother’ in Japanese, was on everyone’s lips. As the guests crossed the arch an applause rose. Zaryanova was clapping with her hands as well. He mimicked. The first man coming up to them wore an eyepatch, long hair, and a dark blue suit. The second had shortly cropped hair and had scar across his cheek. The others around bowed to the men as they made their way to the first lieutenant. An unspoken tension flickered between them. “Makishima, I see you have brought the man of the hour.” Her accent was thicker. She had a fake smile. The man with the eyepatch, Makishima, turned around. The man in question bowed to Zaryanova. He presented himself in Japanese. McCree gathered the name: Tahei Okabe. He was the head of most regional gangs. It was the first time he had seen the man in the month and weeks since he had started working for the Shimada-clan. To the gunslinger’s surprise the first lieutenant bowed to the man. Zaryanova was his superior, she was normally not required to do that. She congratulated him for his work, in Japanese. There was obviously a piece of the puzzle that McCree was missing. This was an unusual display. He didn’t know much about Japanese customs but it was clear that Zaryanova was putting herself lower than him by congratulating him the way she did. Makishima smiled: “Now let’s forget about formalities, I can imagine the Kumicho-dono is waiting.” Zaryanova got up and gestured into the direction of the dojo. “That is correct,” her shoulders seemed to relax. Makishima made his way past the first lieutenant, stopping right in front of McCree. “Oh, is this the American?” His dark brown eye studied the gunslinger, McCree looked at him, the man was wearing a strong cologne. He had well cured eyebrows and an earring in his right earlobe. “At your service, Sir.” Makishima smiled at him… appreciatively… McCree wasn’t stupid, the man was hitting on him. “Of course, I’m sure your skills are just as fine as your looks, pretty boy.” The gunslinger tried not to cringe. The man was making him feel uncomfortable. The power imbalance was clear as a midday sun in Santa Fe, imposing and overwhelming, normally McCree would have rejected the man immediately. Right now he couldn’t. The aura of this man was false, as if a madman was hiding behind the features. Makishima Goko was also more than his superior, he was Zaryanova’s direct superior as well. Okabe commented on something and Makishima started laughing, to which Zaryanova crossed her arms in displeasure. “You’re right, Okabe-san.” They both made their way to the dojo.

“What did he say?” McCree inquired. “He underestimated you.” She apparently didn’t want to say what exactly Okabe had said. He wanted to retort that he could take any insult. But her face made it clear she didn’t want to go further into the matter. He dared to light up a cigarette as he followed Zaryanova. There seemed to be a shift in the power structure in the clan and he hadn’t been aware of it until now. How did all of that escape his strong monitoring of the place? He still had such a blind spot on the whole situation here… Yeah, he was a bit mad at himself. At least he got to meet the second lieutenant. Makishima Goko, he hadn’t gotten any info on the man until now, apart from the fact he was the senior advisor to Hanzo. He appeared to be in his late thirties – early forties and moved like a snake. He had also a small twitch in his hand, a feature often found when someone was suffering from PTSD and past torture. If only McCree could do a full body scan on the man. He pushed out his cigarette on a bin right outside of the dojo before going in.

\--

Okabe Tahei was part of the Makishima family, or so he understood. Everyone was treating him with total respect. As they all entered the dojo, Hanzo had welcomed them, a group of students at his side, with almost open arms. They had then proceeded to talk in rapid fire Japanese that McCree had no capabilities to understand. So he followed, had lunch, glanced over at Zaryanova who didn’t raise her voice more than once or twice as the men talked. But at least he knew that all conversations were recorded and that he’d be able to run a translation program later at his apartment. There was only to hope that the conversations they were having were useful ones. Next to the big banquet that was organised as lunch it seemed that there were distractions and entertainment planned in the other upper level rooms of the dojo. It seemed like there was only a selection of Yakuza around and also a handful of Russians, who were representing Zaryanova’s side of the family. There were a lot of prostitutes, mostly women, but there were young men as well. McCree sipped some whiskey, liking the taste just enough to ask for a second glass. It didn’t taste like the whiskey from home, but it’d do. At least it wasn’t sake. Which the other Yakuza, including Hanzo, were so thoroughly enjoying.

It was still strange for him to be sitting on the floor. The Japanese custom to be seated was a straining one. He hoped to get used to it, eventually. He knew the Yakuza cared for tradition. Even if it was just about sitting at a damn table. Zaryanova had maintained the seiza sitting position for quite some time until she reverted to cross-legged sitting, when Hanzo had started to sit differently and they had been going at their third bottle of sake. McCree couldn’t hold the seiza longer than a minute or two. He hated the tingly feeling in his feet. He really couldn’t see how it was comfortable either. “Care for a game of cards?” Zaryanova asked. She finished her cup of oolong tea that had been served with her alcoholic beverage. “Sure, Ma’am.” He let her get up first, wondering if any of the other lieutenants were going to join in. But they were just chatting to each other and completely oblivious to the exchange.

He followed her to the next room. It looked ridiculously like a small casino. McCree couldn’t read Zaryanova’s mood. She still looked pretty closed off, as if to maintain a frigid exterior. It’s like she was putting on a performance. The next room seemed to accept smoking, the windows were open so McCree took out a cigarette to light up. “You better don’t throw those on the ground once you’re done smoking them. Poker?” Zaryanova proposed, her smirk breaking the cold expression on her face. McCree took a look at the poker table, of course real money was in the game. He made his way to the table to indicate his approval. Zaryanova greeted the other Russian subordinate at the table and sat down in front of McCree. “Are you a lucky man, Mister McCree?” she asked. The gunslinger shrugged, tapping out his cigarette in the ashtray. “I like to think that I rely more on skill than on luck. I propose a game of Texas hold ‘em?”

The dealer was a Japanese hostess, she gave out a holo pad. McCree linked it to the interface strapped to his arm. He typed in his personal access code of his bank account. Zaryanova scanned her phone on the reader, linking her own bank account to the game as well. As the dealer put down the holopad in the middle of the table, a projection of the names and bets appeared as a holograph. “Place your blinds,” the hostess ordered, in perfect English. Jesse McCree: 4000 Aleksandra Zaryanova: 0 Yakov Vivesky: 2000 Akira Toshida: 0, Dealer: 0 appeared. The dealer distributes the cards. McCree took a peek, a pair. This didn’t look bad for a first. Zaryanova looked at her cards and said : “I raise,” Her name flashed green as ‘8000’ appeared next to her name. Eyes went to the last man at the table, “I call.” ‘Akira Toshida: 4000’ flashed green on the holograph. The dealer called, Yakov folded, McCree called, Zaryanova called, Toshida called. The dealer called.

Jesse McCree: 8000 Aleksandra Zaryanova: 12000 Yakov Vivesky: 2000 Akira Toshida: 8000, Dealer 8000. The Preflop round finished, three cards were placed face up. A jack of spades, 7 of hearts and a 2 of clubs. It was McCree’s turn. He continued. Raised. Zaryanova followed. Another community card was revealed. Looked like McCree was going to have aim for a single pair. “Fierce, Ma’am.” He smiled charmingly, while lighting up his cigar. He shared his zippo with the Yakov. They both raised the stakes again. Zaryanova quirked an eyebrow. “We’ll see how much charm will serve in your luck, McCree.” At the last community card he decided to fold at the showdown. Zaryanova revealed her cards to the dealer. The smile on her face widened even more. She won, “jackpot ! I hope you have even more backbone, Mister McCree. Looks like it’s my lucky day.” The gunslinger laughed out loud. “You’re on Ma’am.” Zaryanova beamed at him, visibly happy he was rising to the challenge.

Three – four – maybe even five rounds later, he had won 3 of those rounds. While he was still at a slight loss moneywise, it was interesting to see Zaryanova’s face relax as the games went on. She had another glass of Shochu at her side of the table. Two other men joined in. The atmosphere was respectful and amicable. Until Okabe joined them at the table at the next round. The man smelled of cigarettes. McCree shifted in his seat, perhaps to leave the man his place at the table. “No, I will play against you,” Okabe said. It was a challenge. Zaryanova left her seat, inviting Okabe to take her place. He scanned his own arm interface on the holo pad and his name replaced Zaryanova’s. McCree tapped off the ashes of his cigar. He wasn’t feeling it. Okabe was waging a war between the both of them.

The cards were distributed, McCree kept in a smile as he saw the ace and queen of spades. The blinds got placed, Okabe called and rose immediately. The man seemed confident. Everyone called. Next placing. The gunslinger kept his cool as Okabe’s arrogant stare defied him into raising the stakes again. McCree smiled, exhaling the cigar fumes. He followed. The first community cards were placed, the queen of clubs, a jack of diamonds and a nine of hearts. Two men folded. Yakov was still in the game. Okabe bets. McCree follows. Yakov calls. The dealer follows. Yakov decides to fold. As McCree went all in, Okabe did the same. The next community card was the ace of diamonds. They went all in again. The dealer folded. The next community card was the ace of hearts.

McCree smiled, the man was going to be crushed. He turned his cards to reveal his full house. What happened was a blur as Okabe got up and punched his jaw. “Shit !” it hurt like hell. Feeling the rage build inside him at the assault he didn’t even register the series of Japanese insults that flowed through Okabe’s lips. McCree hadn’t expected it, the violent reaction. He had felt the inside of his lip scrape his teeth. The skin wasn’t broken yet. Okabe circled the table. Perhaps to punch the gunslinger again. Two of the other men at the table rose as well. McCree touched his jaw feeling that a bruise would form over time. He stood up. He was going to make the man pay. Nobody punched Jesse McCree like that and didn’t get payback. It’s then that Hanzo’s voice rose to ears, freezing both opponents into place. “What is going on here ?” McCree had understood the Japanese sentence. Tension climbed up even more. The gunslinger turned to the Kumicho. Hanzo’s face was unreadable, he was followed by Makishima. Okabe looked at the head of the Shimada-clan, talking in rapid fire Japanese as Hanzo moved to meet the two men’s table. Everyone at the table was staring at the ridiculous display they were all making of themselves.

“I didn’t know the man could be such a sore loser, Sir.” McCree spat in defence; he noticed Zaryanova shaking her head disapprovingly. She had kept her distance all this time. Hanzo walked up to him. He poured his gaze into the gunslinger’s eyes. McCree shivered under the man’s stare. Hanzo’s collarbone, neck, smell, distracting him. “If you insult one of your superiors one more time, I’ll punish you myself.” Okabe’s smug smile fuelled fire in McCree’s veins. He clenched his jaw, keeping himself from being taunted. He was going to hate that Okabe man. “Apologies, Sir, I should known my place better.” McCree averted his eyes, reluctantly. He couldn’t hold Hanzo’s gaze. The Kumicho’s presence was making him feel weak in his knees. It really wasn’t advisable to continue any struggle of power anyway. He didn’t want to end up with bigger problems than a punch to the jaw. McCree felt humiliated. He was so angry. A flash. An idea. He took a step back and bowed low, feeling the muscles in his back protesting at the unfamiliar position. It was hard, to lower himself like that, and this was going to be a hit or miss, but he had to try. “Apologies, Sir.” McCree didn’t say anything else. Okabe scoffed: “Kumicho-dono, just kill the gaijin, he isn’t worth your time.” Okabe sneered behind Hanzo’s back. “The gaijin, knows how to show respect, not much can be said of you, Okabe-kun, you disrupt a family reunion I’m willing to organise in your honour. To consider you as being close family, to become our new lieutenant. I see that I might have misplaced my faith in you, kobun.” McCree tried not to smirk at the word Hanzo used, it meant child. At least his attacker was gettin’ his ass roasted as well. Okabe, surprised, was stunned to silence.

“What am I to do, you put me both to shame,” Hanzo crossed his arms, there was a silence, McCree bit his lip. He could feel the pressure of Hanzo’s eyes on the back of his head. Makishima broke the strain on the situation: “I have a proposition to make,” he walked over to the three men. “What if we pit them against each other? I’m sure they still have a lot of anger, which need some form of... evacuation? Kumicho-dono, we could open bets, they get to fight for their honour and restore some dignity to the festivities, you get the winnings. Sounds like a win-win situation for every party.” Hanzo turned toward his advisor. The strain in McCree back muscles was stinging. Damn he hoped the Kumicho would take a decision quickly. “A fight?” Hanzo inquired. Makishima clapped his hands together, “Yes, all out, fists, no other weapons and no other rules, down at the Dojo. Our newest lieutenant candidate gets to prove himself and we get to see if he is fit for the position. We get to entertain ourselves and place bets. They get to settle their disagreement.” Approving whispers were exchanged in the room, excitement clearly stimulating the other men around them. “Fair enough, the fight will be in an hour.”

\--

He hadn’t expected to be pit against Okabe. Sure it wasn’t his first ring fight. As a kid he got in all sorts of trouble. It was however the first time he felt so unprepared. How much was it going to be about entertainment, how much was it going to be about fighting for his life? He had followed Zaryanova as she ordered him to join her. They had gone down to the dojo, down in the apprentice quarters, to the locker rooms. The other Yakuza cheered as they passed, their fill of excitement was being met for the day. Makishima had even appointed a betting table upstairs. As soon as they were deeper inside the locker rooms, Zaryanova turned herself to him. She leaned against a locker. “I knew you were capable of stupid stuff, McCree, but you beat my record on this one.” He cocked his head, “How so? The arsehole had it coming.” Her green eyes were gleaming, she seemed to be enjoying the situation immensely. “To be disrespectful, to stand up, to gamble your life. When you slip up here McCree, your life is on the line. In my early days here, I would have been severely punished, not only because I’m a woman but because I’m Russian as well.” Was that a long time ago? Would you tell me more? He knew he had to ask those questions to figure her out. But it didn’t look like a good time; she would notice he was prying. “It seems, like…” she was looking for her words. Her eyes darting to an empty space before looking at him again. “Rules bend around you. You do excellent work here. I’m pleased and I’m able to put a portion of my trust in you. You’re a survivor, McCree, that’s what I like about you.” It was heartfelt. He couldn’t find a comeback or anything else for that matter. He shifted his weight around in discomfort. “Sit down, I’m here to prepare you for the fight. I’m going to get you more comfortable clothing.” She disappeared and came back. He guessed he had to change because fighting in a suit wasn’t really recommended indeed. It would be sad if he’d rip those seams. Right?

“Why is that Okabe man such a douche, Ma’am?” he asked, the compliment she had given him felt like he could be sincere with her. She indeed didn’t mind his language, they were being off record. She turned around as he started to undress, giving him some privacy he wasn’t expecting. “Okabe climbed the ranks. He managed to save an entire cargo of cocaine from the feds, he had been on the mission for a few months. Right now we need a second lieutenant. Currently the duties are split between me and Makishima.” He was undressed, putting on the shorts she had picked out for him. “Our Kumicho is a very picky man. Okabe is rightfully the next in line for the job.” That was useful information he wasn’t expecting to get so easily. “Why is he your superior? I’m not blind. You’re the first lieutenant, Ma’am. Don’t you outrank ‘m by default?” She scoffed as if he had said something funny. “I’m an intruder, McCree, just like you, I have proven my worth but I will always come second place. The youngsters, the lower ranks, they respect me. The elders of the clan, however, would rather have me gone. Hanzo is just respecting protocol and doesn’t intervene. I wouldn’t want it any other way either. I am my own woman. He respects that. He secured my position since the beginning I arrived here. He gave me a position as his bodyguard. It’s why my duties to him come first. I stepped up to become first lieutenant because he needed someone he could trust.” He noticed she had slipped up and called the head of the Shimada-clan by his first name. “If in the end Okabe, or any other for that matter, present themselves and are proven worthy, I will step down as lieutenant.”

McCree let her talk. She sounded frustrated but resigned. “I have my value in the family, more than just being the one who is the link with the Bratva.” Russian mafia? Was she the daughter to one of the bosses? Was that the reason why she worked for the Shimada-clan? He sucked in the question that was laying on the tip of his tongue, knowing she had already bared more of herself in those last short minutes than ever before. She turned around as he rearranged the loose T-shirt she had given him. “What’s your shoe size?” she suddenly asked. “10,” he replied. She checked her phone and typed in a few things and disappeared behind some lockers. “These are supposed to fit you,” she extended a pair of sports shoes. He would have preferred to wear his own. But he guessed it would be badly seen if he were to go home to fetch anything. He tested and they fitted. A bit tighter than what he usually wore, but not too uncomfortable. A size up would add the danger of losing the garment in the fight. “I don’t understand why Okabe has to be an ass however, Ma’am.” She crossed her arms, amused. “That’s just his personality, he thinks himself superior because of all the things I mentioned earlier. It doesn’t bode well, he ridiculed himself. In the Kumicho’s eyes, he should have challenged you to another battle rather than accept to finish upon a defeat. When you defended yourself, you both sounded like children in a kindergarten. You’re both lucky Makishima came with this idea. The Kumicho has very little patience.” The gunslinger nodded, he had indeed sounded pretty immature.

“So what are the rules?” he asked. Zaryanova shrugged. “It’s a bare knuckle fight, no weapons allowed. There is no restriction. It could turn out to be a fight until the end. I’m sure Okabe would try anything to get there. He is trying to fight for his honour. You’re just another gaijin that is a stain on the picture perfect Yakuza are supposed to be.” McCree scratched his beard pensively. He didn’t have to restrain himself then? It had been ages since he killed anyone bare handed. His eyes trailed toward Zaryanova, her suit was slightly wrinkled now. Her belt was black. She had changed her nail polish since last time he had paid attention to it. How soft or hard was the skin on her fingers? They looked calloused. How would they feel upon his body, his chest? “So no objections if I completely trash the man in his face, Ma’am?” She laughed, her hands curling around her forearms. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say: ‘be my guest.’ I hate the man just as much as you do. If not more.” Great, that was good. He stood up and folded up his clothing. Zaryanova gestured toward the locker next to her, typing a code into the interface. He stashed away his stuff.

At this point a silence fell between them, his skin prickled. Another kind of tension rose between them. She was leaning against the locker next to his. Her hand in her hair. Her jacket was showing her body harness encompassing her gun. The curve of her breasts was slightly revealed. Her green eyes were fixating on a point on his face. And when their eyes met, McCree could only hear the white noise of his blood in his temples as his pulse quickened. He felt like a fire was burning when Zaryanova’s eye lids lowered slightly, the expression on her face became soft. She made no gesture to approach him. McCree clenched and unclenched his hand. His whole body screamed at him to move toward her. “I…” his throat felt dry as he noticed she was wearing gloss on her lips, as her smell of rose perfume intoxicated his senses little by little. “I think I’d like a smoke.” - And your tongue - “Just before the fight.” Her lips stretched into a smile, even her voice was low. “It’s unadvisable to smoke right before getting into a fight.” He laughed under his breath, “I like unadvisable things, I feel prepared enough to make this decision.” She pointed with her thumb behind her. “There is a door that way, I’ll come and get you when it’s time.” She scratched her neck and let him pass.

There was a door that led to outside. Of course he had forgotten his cigarettes in the pocket of his clothes in his lockers. But he needed air. The cold wind made his whole body shiver. He had gotten so much information about the clan’s internal workings. Why did the second lieutenant need to be replaced? Whose place had it been before it needed filling in? He settled his eyes on two men who were on the terrace with him; they were both smoking. He walked over and asked in broken Japanese if he could have one. He had expected to be rejected but one of them extended a package of cigarettes. He took two out. “I’ll give you these back after the fight.” The man nodded at him and lit his first cigarette. Twenty minutes later Zaryanova appeared at the door opening. He crushed his overly smoked cigarette bud into the trash can. One of the men shouted him good luck. And he went in.

It was clear that there was excitement brewing. The chattering voices were almost deafening. Also the cheers. He felt like when he was a kid, in the underground fighting circles he had joined for pocket money. It was such a long time ago. It were his connections at the underground rings that had landed him friendships with the people he would join the deadlock gang with. Right now it felt like another life. They had liberated space. Hanzo was drinking sake at a table together with Makishima, not even paying attention to the arrival of the two contestants. Okabe had a tiger tattoo covering both his pecks and arms. The man had decided to fight bare chested. The roars increased in volume as McCree and Okabe approached the fighting aera. The other man was even baring his teeth to the gunslinger. McCree imagined himself shooting a bullet between the man’s eyes. The thought made him smile. He decided to mimic the man and go bare chested himself. Makishima stood up and extended a hand in the air. Everyone went quiet. Of course the man would be talking in Japanese. McCree braced himself, expecting the start of the fight to be set off without even him realising it would. Zaryanova walked to the middle of the fighting aera. She made a sign for both men to approach. Okabe spit on the floor as he approached. “All-in, no weapons, that’s all. Good luck.” She took a step back. McCree redistributed his weight, already raising his fists to his face. A misplaced punch could cripple his hands, taking him out early. The skull was a very hard bone. He had to concentrate on damaging the body first.

“Fight!”

He took a step back as Okabe launched himself to attack his face. He had to make sure he had a defence up. The fist came in contact with his arms. Okabe tried to grab his face to kick him in the stomach. McCree shifted his weight again and locked up the man’s arm in one of his. One - two – three punches in the man’s sternum. Okabe staggered back. McCree knew he should have continued hitting the man. He had to make a switch in his head. Okabe was out of breath, insulting his opponent nevertheless. Okabe lifted his fists again and McCree made two steps forward. Okabe rose his arm to guard himself against an upcoming onslaught of punches, as expected, that was McCree’s call to try and crush Okabe’s wrist with his forearm. McCree tried to hook him using the palm of his hand primarily. The growl escaping his opponent’s lips told McCree that that last punch was particularly painful. Okabe shifted his weight and escaped McCree’s attack. The gunslinger wasn’t fast enough to defend himself from the punch to his face; Okabe’s smaller stature was playing in the man’s favour. McCree cursed as he felt blood flowing from his nostrils. He lost his defensive posture. Okabe took advantage, a knee came in contact with his stomach. Shit. Was he going to throw up? Okabe kicked him to the ground. He had to get back up as fast as possible.

The foot rammed itself into his chest. McCree rolled over to get further away. Just enough to kick his opponent on the behind of his knees. Okabe grunted. He hadn’t expected to be thrown to his knees like this. The gunslinger winced as he tried to get up. Which he did. One – two – steps back. He rose his fists again. Okabe sneered at him. Blood was pumping in McCree’s head. His old instincts kicked in. He was going to ram his opponent to the ground. More punches. Okabe tried to hook him from the side, trying to break McCree’s guard. The sound of meat clashing echoed through the cheers. McCree spit the gathered blood from his nose in Okabe’s face. It was disgusting. It was just the distraction he needed. He kicked the man in the balls. Remembering his training, remembering his survival instinct. He knocked Okabe’s face onto his knee. The nose broke. A scream. His opponent tried to land another fist on McCree’s jaw. He couldn’t hear. He got the man in an arm lock. Okabe tried to escape. 10 seconds and the man went limp. He told himself to stop. To release the man. Blood singing in his temples. Adrenaline pumping in his veins as if he wasn’t already the winner. He had to stop. He had to release the man. His arms locked in place. His muscles were squeezing the man’s throat. He had to… he… he… did. Okabe went face first to the floor.

Cheers were thundering his eardrums, he couldn’t hear them. A strong hand circled his wrist. His knuckles felt like they were on fire. As his arm was raised, Zaryanova’s voice boomed to declare him the winner. Amidst the confusion, amidst the overwhelming sounds and his irregular breathing, he had to avert his eyes. Right across from him, at the table, Hanzo was looking at him. Smiling.

\--

It took a while – the hands on his back patting him, congratulating him, in Japanese, English, Russian – the hand on his forearm tugged him forward. They were back in the locker rooms. His ears were still ringing. The blood of his nose was already starting to crust. It took another moment for him to understand that Zaryanova was talking to him. “…mit?” He turned toward her. She didn’t look too concerned. Her hand was on his shoulder. “What?” he croaked. His jaw was starting to throb – or was already throbbing he couldn’t tell – his teeth had clashed against each other, there was still the lingering echo of them resonating in his mind. “Do you feel the need to vomit?” he shook his head. She nodded. She disappeared to come back with a damp cloth. “Do you need any help ?” He summoned his strength and extended his hand to receive the towel. He wiped under his nose. The cloth became pinkish from the blood. “Shit, he got me bad.” Was his nose broken? It might be. His nose felt sensitive. He didn’t dare to touch it. Zaryanova sat down next to him on the bench. Her hands barely ghosted over his face. “Can I?” her voice was deep. He nodded. Her fingers contoured his jaw. She was careful. It didn’t hurt. The warmth of her palm against the underside of his throat. “It doesn’t look broken, but Doctor Suzuki will take a look at it.” Right when she said it the door opened to reveal Suzuki.

Zaryanova gave the doctor the space to auscultate McCree. “Mister McCree, what is your first name?” She shone a light in his eyes. He blinked furiously. “Jesse.” Her fingers on his jaw were less gentle. He winced. “Do you know where you are?” the device in her hand was bleeping. “Shimada castle, I just fought in a bareknuckle fight at the dojo.” She put the device against his temple. The biometric interface flashed orange. “What is your mother’s name?” she asked, he clenched his jaw. The pain grounded him. She was typing things in her arm interface. “Mary, my father’s name was Gene. They’re both dead.” She inspected his hands. “Doesn’t look so bad. How do you feel?” She was flashing her device across his torso. The doctor’s glasses were resting on the tip of her nose. She looked older from this angle. “As if a horse trampled me down on the road. But it turned out just to be a thirty year old Japanese man with a scar on his cheek and a big mouth.” Zaryanova snickered. The doctor scowled. “A pounding start of a headache,” he admitted. “Do you feel anything else unusual?” He shook his head. Suzuki stood back up, taking a small box out of her pocket. Small flakes of light appeared as she clicked the box open. They danced around his head before sticking to his face. They were almost immediately absorbed by his skin.

“No pupil got blown, the scanner says he has no cranial trauma, his nose is badly bruised but it also stopped bleeding. The nano bots will take care of any possible damage, in a few hours he will not feel anything anymore. Here is some antibody ointment for his knuckles. Just patch it up, with these bandages. Tomorrow he might feel slightly sore and there will be bruises. But overall he is alright considering the blows he got. I’ll write in a report tonight.” McCree looked up as the doctor gave Zaryanova the medical bandages. She thanked her. Suzuki turned upon her heels ready to leave. “Is he… Alive?” she smiled at him. “He probably wishes he wasn’t.” He breathed in a sigh of relief. The adrenaline sometimes took him far. He was happy to hear that today he hadn’t let it control his actions completely. “Thank you, doc’.” She nodded and left.

McCree was left alone with Zaryanova. She sat down next to him; her hands delicately taking his as she popped open the bottle of ointment. His eyes trailed over his Deadlock gang tattoo. He had gotten it the day he had been accepted into the gang. Together with his closest friends, friends who were now locked in prison, most of them dead. Zaryanova applied a thick layer of ointment. It hurt, but it was negligible. “Is Okabe in any kind of trouble now? Now that a gaijin beat ‘m?” Zaryanova started to bandage his forearm and wrist. “He is, he made a fool out of himself. Twice. I think that this time it will be Makishima himself that will take care of the punishment, since Okabe is part of his family.” Zaryanova’s hands were warm, careful, and slightly bigger than his. They were soldier hands. Not so different from what he knew. She was extra careful with his right hand. She knew it was his dominant hand. “You put up quite the fight, I’m impressed, McCree.” He laughed under his breath. “I had a difficult youth. Underground fighting was part of my daily life before I ended up with the Deadlock gang.” Zaryanova hummed, she seemed to relate. Her hands finished bandaging up his hand. But she didn’t release it from her grasp. McCree looked up at her. Her green eyes. Her lips moving: “You have surprised me quite a bit today, McCree. I’m…” she released his hand. The loss of warmth. The ghost of her touch on the palm of his hand. “…Pleased… that…” her eyes were darting toward his lips, feeling her breath on his face. “Permission to make unreasonable request, Ma’am,” He interrupted. His own voice felt thick. His whole body was vibrating. The tension between them was suffocating him. “Permission granted.” Her voice was low, almost a whisper. He almost missed the cue. “May I kiss you?” Bold move. But direct. He wanted to try the catch. Her lips broke into a smile. “Granted.”

She was the one who kissed him. Her hand cupped his uninjured side of his jaw. She leaned in. A hand of his travelled to her wrist, badly needing it to ground himself. She avoided to touch his nose. Her lips were warm, wet. He just could hear his blood scream in his ears. His breath was locked in his throat. He closed his eyes. Just so he could concentrate on the feeling. He buried his fingers in her undercut. A slight push on the back of her neck, pressing their lips even more together. He moved closer. Their bodies touched more. The heat built up in the pit of his stomach. His lips against hers, the rising and falling of his chest; her chest, the pain on his jaw was just a distant memory. She moved her mouth against his, their connection deepening. A lingering tongue traced the flesh of his lips. The heat, the warmth, the fever of a kiss he had longed for. He opened his mouth on instinct. He let out a sigh as her tongue touched his. His body relaxed under the caress. She literally took his breath away. And it felt timeless. Her carnal taste invaded his mouth. His thumb brushed over her wrist. A shot of arousal in his groin.

“So have I signed myself a death warrant?” He whispered as he broke the contact of their lips. He wanted more of her. More of that touch. Her body registered slightly later what he had said. She suddenly froze before being shaken with laughter. Her hands rested against his forearms. Her eyes were glistening, he smiled. Bit lost to her reaction. He hadn’t expected her to be so amused. “No,” she said, her voice was slightly hoarse. He raised an eyebrow at her. “It… doesn’t work like that,” she continued. He cocked his head sideways, to show her he was listening. “How does it work then?” He asked. Weren’t they in any sort of relationship in the end? Just a convenient fuck? Zaryanova leaned back, releasing the connection of their bodies. “We… have rules, agreements. It’s personal. But it doesn’t mean we can’t… fool around? But like I said it’s personal.” An open relationship then. She didn’t seem to want to share more. “As long as he doesn’t sent people to come and kill me in my sleep. I’m a happy man.” She chuckled. “Not his style.” There was a silence. He wanted to tug on the lapel of her suit. To kiss her again. Because it had felt more than just nice. It had felt good. It had felt really good kissing her. But he also wanted more. His half hard-on tugged at the back of his mind and trapped in his underwear. Was kissing everything he would ever get? Could he have more? Did she want more? “I…” she started, the faint blush on her cheeks strengthening, “I could come by tonight, if you wish.” Hell yes. Hell fucking godly Mary yes. Yes. He nodded, “You would be pretty welcome.” Her expression softened at his words. His heart rate quickened. She stood up and a muffled sound of cheers rose from upstairs. “I’ll page you for when I’ll be coming over. See you later, McCree.”

\--

The first fight had instigated another. And quickly, if there wasn’t any other form of entertainment available, bare-knuckled fist fights were organised. This time they had more rules. The pain in his face lessened and McCree had gotten back into the given suit. The afternoon just continued like nothing major had happened. He regretted not having linked his computer to his current interface. Zaryanova and Hanzo had disappeared, there was no sign of Makishima either. With a swipe he checked his bank account. He had won a small sum of credits. Just enough for a new nice pack of cigars and dinner. Today hadn’t been about losses but about wins. Even if he couldn’t get back to his monitoring feed in Zaryanova’s office. In case they had decided to meet up there to decide what to do with Okabe, the conversation would be recorded and he could review it later. He had smoked a full cigar by the time the sun went down. The kiss still lingered on his skin. He engaged in light conversation with a few people. Most of them congratulated him on the win of the fight. The other Yakuza were almost treating him with respect. It was like he had proven to be worth something after all. Surprised at the sudden social contact, McCree didn’t dismiss it. The friendly conversation was a welcome time killer before it was acceptable for him to leave the castle alltogether.

As he saluted the door guards with a wave of the hand, he felt like he could finally breathe correctly once he left the still ongoing festivities. His first stop was the drugstore. Buying condoms and lubricant. Also painkillers. It wasn’t like he distrusted the effectiveness of Nano-technology. He just wanted to be sure. Next stop was the takeaway shop. He took the same thing as he did the past few days. That finished he went back up to his apartment. He entered the code to abort the self-destruct on the computer upon entering the premises of his temporary home. He took off the pin on his suit first. He shed his clothes, hating on how they smelled of sweat and blood. He gathered the rest of his clothing into a laundry basket. The landlady would recuperate it in the morning if he left it outside of his room. He dressed himself with a loose T-shirt and sweatpants.

McCree didn’t clean as often as he should, so this was a perfect opportunity. He put on some music. He threw away the ashes of his ashtray into the bin. Even decided to dust off a few kitchen surfaces here and there. As he gathered the empty bottles of beers, his pager beeped. He tapped off his cigarette in the sink. The code indicated she would be there in half an hour. He had time for a quick shower.

Exactly 30 minutes later there was knock on the door. He had another glance at his now clean apartment before opening up to Zaryanova. She had switched clothes as well. More casual. A turtle neck and dress pants. She was leaning against the wall. “Good evening.” Her confidence was rolling off her shoulders as she walked in. Her perfume was different. Less invasive than the roses one. She extended a plastic bag with bottles inside. “I brought something drinks, I assume you have glasses.” He was already taking out the freshly washed glasses from his cupboard. She laid the bag on the kitchen table. “Actual American Whiskey?” She was bringing the big guns; she scratched the back of her head as he poured a first glass. “Yeah, being who I am, I have some connections to get some decent stuff from overseas.” He extended her the drink. They clunk glasses. He sipped the amber liquid while she finished it in one go. Her face seemed slightly flushed. But she smiled at him, she seemed determined. “I’m going to get down to it, I do not care much for small talk.” He took another sip and put down his glass leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. Her forwardness was refreshing. He didn’t care much for the small talk either. “I’m listenin’.” She put down her glass on the table. “It’s simple: No markings, I think you Americans call it ‘hicky’, no scratch marks and no biting either. No slapping on any of my body parts. We use condoms at all times.” He had expected the ‘no markings’ part. Was Hanzo a possessive man or was it Zaryanova that had imposed that rule? A mutual agreement maybe? “Fair conditions, I’m personally pretty much up for anything.” Yeah. Anything. If she was wanting to do the same thing she regularly did with her lover. He’d be up for that. It wouldn’t be his first time either. “I figured that if there was like a grey zone, we’d ask each other whether or not to go forth with it.”

Zaryanova agreed. “Well then, Ma’am…” shall we proceed? Sounded so formal. May I kiss you again? Sounded too artificial. Showed a soft side he did not have for her – yet - His own mind added. “May I interest you in a full on visit of my apartment?” She arched an eyebrow but let his attempt at humour slide. It had been a terrible line anyway. She moved, circling the table. She wanted to be the one leading. He instinctively backed up against the wall. He’d definitively let her. She laid her forearm right above his head, her other hand caressingly settling on his waist. McCree felt a flush creep upon his cheeks, knowing the alcohol had some part in it. “Zarya,” she whispered. Her voice was like a rumble in her chest. Her body was pressing into his, locking him into place against the wall. He looked up at her deep green eyes. His hand caressed the arm touching his waist. “Jesse,” he simply replied. The tension could be cut with a knife. He let his hand touch her further and felt the hard muscle covered by the fabric of her clothes. He touched her cheek. His heart was pounding. She closed her eyes, rubbing her jaw into the palm of his hand. A sigh breached her lips and he felt himself loose footing. She leaned in for a kiss. His head backed against the wooden wall. Her mouth moved against his. He responded, leaning into the warmth of the embrace she was offering. Her taste, her underlying fervour. He could only be wanting more. Her kiss so delicate and careful, he needed more.

He fisted her clothing, tugging her closer to him. She lifted him up. He locked his legs behind her hips. Even though he was unfamiliar with the feeling, her strong arms were making him feel secure enough not to worry. He rested his forehead against hers, stealing a kiss here and there. They made their way to the open other room. She stopped in front of the bed and let him down gently. He grabbed the underside of her turtleneck and helped her take it off. Her dog tags dangled down against her chest in a metallic sound as the two tags hit each other. He took off his own T-shirt. He needed to feel her skin against his. Her breasts against his torso. They were supported by a sports bra, her nipples were hard. His hands explored the scars on her belly; her back; her waist. He recognised the ridges of scar tissue that had been shredded skin next to her spine. Zarya had the body of a soldier. He had scars matching hers, in the inside of his thigh. He kissed her again and again and again. His hands cupped her ass, her lower back. His hard-on was feeling trapped in his trousers. He settled his fingers on her belt buckle. There was something incredibly hot doing just that – undoing the buckle of a belt of a partner – he treasured those tense moments where the need was making him clumsy and when the want was just as mutual. Her fingers joined his and she removed her belt in two swift tugs.

Her tongue was upon his once more. He caressed her undercut. His fingers lost themselves in the pink locks of her hair, completely messing up the product she had used to style it. “I want to ravish you,” he breathed between two kisses. He dragged her head more down so he could whisper in her ear. “Lemme taste ya,” he asked, demanded, requested, begged. It could have been any of those words. She grunted in approval as he licked the underside of her ear. Her body shivered under the touch. He rubbed himself against her leg. Her warm hands were on his waist, supporting him into the movement. He laid down a kiss on the flesh underneath his mouth. He wanted her: To be buried in her heat. His hips bucking into hers, moving in and out of her. He wanted all of her.

They broke the contact between their bodies. She worked on taking off her socks and pants as he flicked on the light next to the nightstand. McCree switched out the main light. The gunslinger stopped as the light still illuminated enough for him to see. The tattoo covered her whole back. A dragon koi fish swimming an upwards stream. He couldn’t tell if the fish was red or black. There was a mix of blackwork and traditional Japanese tattooing. It was a gorgeous piece. He reached out to her, circling her waist with his arms. His cheek caressed her shoulder. “You’re beautiful.” Her hands cupped his rear. He pressed his hard-on against her ass. Rubbing. He let his hands travel on her body, fraying a way underneath her bra. The bandages on his hands were slightly in the way for him to do it smoothly. Her nipples felt flushed and hard. He kneaded them, letting the hard bud roll between his fingers. She moaned in his ear. He bucked his hips as she grinded herself against him. Fuck. He’d just push her over and fuck her right there if he could. “Go lie on the bed,” he rasped. She took off her bra and boxer shorts.

Zarya sat back on the bed. He’d fall on his knees if he wasn’t already half way there, a knee on the matrass. He could already take in her scent. She had a sharp intake of breath as he lowered himself to her. He was on his knees, settled between her legs. His arms around her hips, his hands on her stomach. He breathed on her dyed curls. He kissed the inside of her thigh first. Her legs were muscled and hard. It aroused him to no end. He let his tongue lick the inked skin underneath his nose. Her scent grew stronger. He rubbed his cheek against her leg, dragging out the anticipation as she quivered under his caress. A trail of kisses. She cursed in Russian as he gave a first tentative lick to her slit. Zarya’s body froze as his tongue worked to spread her folds. He licked right under her clit. Her hand went to his hair. Her fingers dug into his scalp. She was petting him, encouraging him to continue. He repeated the movement. Her carnal taste coated his lips as he licked again. A moan escaped her lips. She dug her heels into the matrass. He settled into a rhythm adding more saliva as he did. She tasted so fucking good. Her hips moved against his mouth, bucked, her back arched. Her fingers dug through his scalp. She would mutter sometimes in Russian. Whisper in English that what he was doing felt good. He circled her clit a few times before sliding down to dip into her heat. He’d slide in what he could and she’d just grunt away, pressing his face against her core. He did it a few times, feeling his bruised jaw ache. He slid a finger inside of her. She was incredibly wet.

“Fuck me.” Her voice was needy. Desperate. He bucked his hips into the matrass trying to get off the edge with the bit of friction he could get. Fuck. He wanted her so bad. “Now,” she ordered. She was losing patience. He released her. His need was great. He couldn’t take the wait anymore either. He stood up to take of his pants; her eyes were locked upon his body and she sat more upright. Zarya opened the nightstand and rummaged through to take out the newly bought lube and condoms. He fisted his cock. It took off some of the immediate pressure of his arousal. She tore off the condom package. He climbed back onto the bed. Her hands were trembling. She cupped his balls and squeezed. He felt like bursting open just right there. He breathed soundly through his nose. Her hand circled around his shaft. “Zarya,” he breathed. He couldn’t. His mind was just going blank. Her green eyes were dilated. Her lips were swollen on how much she had bitten them. She used both of her hands to roll the condom on him. Her hands were so warm. He was already quite close to orgasm. She clapped open the bottle of lube and slicked him up.

Zarya laid herself back into the pillows. Her legs were parted, her musk scent was overpowering his mind. He rubbed himself against her entrance. She rocked her hips against his, sighing. McCree used one arm for balance, the other to help him guide himself inside her. The first thrust. Her heat cupping him. It made him lose his mind. Her hands rested against his ass. The movement of her hips were urging him to continue. A second thrust. A third. A fourth. He dug his knees into the matrass as he rocked his hips in a more regular pace. Her moans were music to his ears. The wetness of her heat made him grunt relentlessly as he drove himself in and out of her. He put more strength behind his thrusts. She groaned approvingly. Her fingers caressed his nipples, his stomach, his shoulders. The sound of their bodies was obscene. His fingers held her still as he almost retracted himself completely. He buried himself to the hilt in one hard thrust again. Her cry was what he felt he was living for. He repeated it five - six times. He had long lost count by the time she touched herself between the both of them. Her breasts moved flowingly between each rocking of her hips against his. Zarya was god damn fucking hot. The sweat from his forehead beaded down his cheeks. Her hand moved more rapidly between them; her fingers circling her clit. Her moans, her grunts. He couldn’t differentiate them from his own. She clenched upon him, he gasped at her grip. Her body was shuddering, tensing. Her eyes were rolling back in her head. She shut her eyes close. “Move,” she urged. He helped her ride out her orgasm. His hips bucked against hers. He moved, the groan of an animal rutting against its mate as the only way to communicate. She shuddered. She screamed. She came.

In the end they were both out of air. He crashed upon her torso, drained. He did not even remember when he had hit orgasm or if he had hit it at all. His mouth laid kisses on the crook of her neck, remembering not sink his teeth in her sweating flesh. Zarya caressed the back of his head. She was kissing his temple. Her breathing was rasped. McCree held down the base of the condom to disengage from their locked limbs. His legs were sore from exercise. There was even a slight cramp in his leg. He stood up and tied off the condom before throwing it in the bin. Zarya moaned as she stretched herself all over the bed. Her hands caressed her sides, she seemed satisfied with how things had proceeded. He grabbed his trousers to take out one of his cigarette packages and opened the window as he lit one up. There was a cold breeze outside. Just enough to make him reel against the cold. Zarya sat up. It was pretty dark outside now. He extended her the cigarette. Her fingers, delicate as always. She dragged from it extensively and tapped it off on the ashtray he picked up next to the bed. “I can’t imagine you’ll be staying the night,” he said. She smiled. He had guessed right. She exhaled the nicotine fumes before passing him the cigarette again. He wondered if this was going to be a one-time thing. He should ask. But keeping it vague was just as comfortable at the moment. Less emotions and thoughts to deal with.

He sat down on the bed next to her. Neither of them wanted to talk. They passed the cigarette between them. She eventually was the one that crushed it out in the ashtray. Like a silent agreement she stood up. He let his eyes trail over her body as she walked over to pick up her clothes. He lit up another cigarette. The light from outside was giving her body a blue hue. He hoped he’d be able to see her back tattoo on a clear day one day. He found the fact she dyed her pubes pink a pretty amusing one. The scars on her nipples indicated there had been piercings there once too. She must have been quite the punk during her teenager years. She clasped her watch around her wrist and finished dressing herself. In retrospective he was still naked as a new-born baby. “I’ll show you out.” He grabbed his sweatpants and quickly put them on. Somewhere it felt sad to him she needed to go away. Not that he was the kiss and cuddle type. Having your lover around for the night made most sex seem less business like.

Zarya passed the arch of the door and turned around to face him. Should they kiss? He wanted to kiss. “I can say that this was…” She licked her lips, “Quite a pleasant distraction from work.” He shifted his weight onto his other foot. Her hand reached out to him. He let her. Her fingers traced his collarbone, touched the golden cross around his neck, ghosted over his nipples. She tugged slightly on his chest hair as her fingers buried themselves in the thickness of it. She probably wasn’t aware she was dreaming away. “The pleasure was all mine…” her green eyes locked into his. He held her hand against his chest. “and yours,” he said as he reached up to kiss her. A simple peck on the lips, that was just enough. “Good night,” she whispered. Zarya slowly backed away and made her way downstairs. Just like that Aleksandra Zaryanova was gone into the night, leaving quite the empty space behind her.

He put the cigarette back in his mouth and picked up his unfinished glass of whiskey that was lying around. There was still some work to do tonight. He fished out his interface from the pile of his clothes. He perhaps also needed to put on a shirt. He took the one he had been wearing previously. A complex series of codes and biometric scanning later, the computer fired up. He sat down in front of it. The white screen illuminated most of room around him. He took away the hidden microphone from behind the Shimada pin and linked it into one of the ports of the computer. A side projection appeared, making a transcript of the stored information he had assembled during today. “Welcome back, Jesse McCree.” He tapped off his cigarette. “Good evening Athena, could you link me through? The boss asked me to contact him ASAP.” Another holographic projection split the screen in two. He typed in his personal access code and he scanned his retina against the screen. “Agent Jesse McCree, reporting.” The screen went dark, the voice of Gabriel Reyes rose amidst the quiet of the apartment, “Jesse, good to hear your voice. I was wondering if you were going off grid or got yourself killed since you hadn’t checked-in in weeks. But I’m glad my impressions were wrong.” McCree scoffed, almost offended. “Sir, infiltration missions are my strongest skills, next to shootin’ of course. If I ever were to drop dead, you sure as hell will hear about it.”

The end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note:  
> So here concludes the first fic in this AU. What’s up next ? Well there is some unresolved tension still needing to be addressed. It’s clear that McCree put himself in quite a mess. I have planned a small bonus scene that I'll add to this fic but it won’t be important to the plot.
> 
> For the ones wondering yes Makishima Goko is inspired by Majima Goro from the Yakuza video series (The name is inspired by the Kanji of Majima’s name.)
> 
> I spent some time researching yakuza tattoos for Zarya and I’m really happy I decided to settle for the one described. 
> 
> If you ever have questions or want to share headcanons feel free to do it so here or on [my tumblr ask](http://miss-shiva-adler.tumblr.com/ask)


	4. Bonus Scene No 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are for a first bonus scene, hope you enjoy! And yes even more sexual content ahead.

Of course the post sex glow was everywhere to read on her face. She had stared at herself in the elevator mirror trying to rearrange her hair but it was completely futile. Her cheeks felt and looked pretty relaxed compared to the obvious bed hair she was coping with. She rested her back against the wall of the elevator and looked at her hand. Her nail polish was slightly chipped. The remaining feeling of warmth was still pretty present on her palm. McCree's words still very lingering on her own skin: the feeling of the steady beating heart in his chest under her fingers, the sounds of his growling in her ear still echoed in her mind. Even the memory of his eyes, full of heat, looking down at her, were making her blush. It had all been nicer than she had expected.

The elevator rang and she got out. A few paces later in the dark corridor with minimal light, she swiped her thumb on the biometric scanner. The door of her apartment slid open. There was a faint light in the living room area, which she didn't remember having left on. She kicked off her shoes in the corner. "You're late." Of course he had stayed up. The more surprising was that he was actually in her apartment this time. She passed a hand through her hair. "And you have been overworking yourself again," she replied, with both amusement and concern in her voice. Hanzo smiled and took off his reading glasses. He looked very tired. It was something he couldn't hide from her anymore. His casual kimono wasn't as neat as he would usually wear it. He had also kicked off his sandals to be sitting in the long extensive couch. "The Wong case is perturbing me, Ju-Zhang Wong is hiding something from me," he said, his voice a bit strained as he massaged his temples. He often would get headaches when he stared at data pads for too long. He probably thought he would be able to analyse the information from the last communication web they had installed three weeks ago. But by the looks of it, he hadn't gotten any further than before she had left him. "I don't think there is anything you can do about it tonight." She circled the coffee table as she approached. She sat down next to him on the couch. Their bodies touched slightly. His tired eyes looked at her as he put the data pad on the table. Her heart always beat faster when Hanzo left his defences down like that, when he would just let her be close without feeling threatened. She raised her hand as he leant back into the couch. She let her fingers trace his jaw and he let his hands go almost limp next to him as she took over massaging his temples. "You're right," he whispered. He leaned into her touch. His beard brushed against her forearms. Zarya sat more upright in the couch for better access. Hanzo looked almost peaceful between her hands like this, it reminded her of the times when he wasn't the head of the clan, when the threat on their lives wasn't this incredibly high and constant.

She took care of the pressure right above his eyes and at the back of his skull. He sighed. Zarya smiled as her fingers then entangled themselves into his hair to remove the ribbon that kept it up. She found him more handsome this way, when he had his hair loose. Especially when it was sprawled all over her desk, her bed or the floor as she fucked him deep. This is why his next sigh was a temptation. She held his head in her hand. Over the years Hanzo had become an even more attractive man. His greying temples, his darker eyes, his confidence. He wasn't the reckless impulsive yakuza he used to be a few years ago. He had grown and taken her heart with him. She let the tip of her fingers trace his lips. He parted them slightly. His face was so relaxed, his lips so tempting, the warm feeling of them beneath her touch. She leaned in to kiss him. It was warm. He responded to her kiss. Its wetness was welcome. He let himself be kissed by her, letting her tongue glide in, explore the inside of his mouth. He tasted of tea. The tip of her tongue traced the underside of his. He moaned as it was a sensitive spot to him. She felt her body grow hot at the kiss that wasn't overly sexual, but very intimate for the both of them. Zarya shifted positions, considering to straddle him. As if he had read her mind he moved down his legs to let her. She pressed her body against his and let out a sigh.

He rested his hands on her back. Her kiss became more wet, more sloppy. Her thumbs caressed his cheeks. Her tongue and his tongue stimulated each other as if they were kissing for the first time. She licked his bottom lip, sucking slightly before sharing the space of his mouth again. She didn't hear the moan that escaped her own throat. The fingers on her back were digging into her sweater. Hanzo was frowning in concentration as he kissed back, balancing out lip pressure and movement. She let one hand wander over his chest, fraying itself a way between the lapels of his silken kimono. His muscles and skin always felt soft at the touch. She caressed his stomach and went even lower. The belt stretched as her hand went under it. His heavy lidded eyes opened up to look at her."I could relax you some more if you're up for that?" she was out of breath, so was he. "If you'll indulge me," he said. The tip of her fingers brushed over the rim of his boxers. The caress made him buck against her. "Always." Her voice was husk. She claimed his lips one more time and got off the couch.

She kneeled in front of him; her hands roamed over his legs, parting the kimono. She cupped his half hard clothed erection through his boxers. He shifted his hips forward to grant her better access. The gesture was slow but the pressure so right. She brought herself closer. Her tongue traced the inside of his thigh. Hanzo's whole body tensed, the sensation probably giving him pleasure through the sensitive spot she was kissing. Zarya smiled against his skin, her hand traced his legs up and down over his scars. She kissed his cock through the fabric. His body responded in a jerking movement as the warm air she was blowing soaked his underwear. Her fingers fumbled around the waistband and Hanzo lifted his hips to help her remove his boxers. The smell was intoxicating. She nuzzled his shaft and took in the scent, her nose burying itself in his bodyhair. She could see him blush in the dim light of the room. Her hand gripped the base of his cock as she rubbed her cheek gently against the hot skin of his shaft. His erection grew harder as she did so. She locked her eyes with his. She spread her lips and kissed the length of his cock.

His breath hitched as she finally slid the foreskin from the head of his cock. Her hand dug inside of his hip to get some balance as her lips closed themselves around him. His hand caressed the back of her head, playing with the short hairs as he exhaled soundly through his nose. He was tense before relaxing once more. Her lips dragged down on his shaft. Zarya relished in the weight of his cock in her mouth. The salty taste coated her soft palate, she felt her own arousal spreading wider. If Hanzo hadn't been completely hard since she had started sucking him, he certainly was now. She hollowed her cheeks as she came back up, licking the underside of his glans. She repeated the movement. The fingers in her hair caressed the back of her head encouragingly. Her hand at the base stroked up as her mouth went down again. She twisted her hand during the counter-stroke. Hanzo exhaled and she did it again and again. He shifted, bringing his other hand to his face, his elbow resting on the back of the couch. He would often hide his face, half embarrassed by his own pleasure. But he was watching, that was something she was certain of. Her hand tugged lightly at his testicles. He emitted a low growl. She started to keep up a certain rhythm, slowly upping the speed, working on increasing the suction of her mouth and the stretching of her lips.

His breathing changed gradually. Hanzo was a quiet man in his pleasure. It was the quiet gestures – the strength on the fingers in her hair, the slight rocking of his hips – that indicated how close he was. She paused and stretched out a hand at the coffee table to punch in a code. A small side door opened. She took out a bottle of lube and a box of latex gloves with a small towel. He didn't move. Didn't look up. But he nodded. She took the cock out of her mouth. The sound of the latex snapped in the air as she put on a glove. His cock twitched, he was eyeing her through his fingers. She laid the small towel on the couch under his buttocks and lubed up her gloved fingers. She teased the spot right beneath his testicles. A slight pressure. Her finger trailed lower, to his sphincter. Her finger circled before dipping. She looked at the reaction of her lover before going further. She inserted the finger whole. A gruff sound breached Hanzo's lips. The muscle resistance diminished as she let him get used to the sensation. He laid a hand again on the back of her head. Zarya grasped his cock once more and let him hit the back of her throat. He rolled back his head on the edge of the couch. His exposed Adam's apple bobbed up and down. She had curled her finger.

His breathing became ragged as she picked up where she left off. The pace, her lips stretched around his thick shaft. She reminded herself to keep breathing through her nose as she let his glans hit the back of her throat again. She worked lips and a scrape of teeth. Hanzo's hips were bucking against her mouth as her fingers teased his prostate. He became rock hard again in no time, a thin layer of sweat clung to him as a second skin. She teased the underside of the head of his cock, squeezed the base of his shaft. Sighs escaped her lover's mouth as she continued and worked in a second finger. He was clenching down. The hand on her head urged her to continue. Zarya indulged. She prodded, teased, twisted, moved her fingers in and out. All while sucking him. Hanzo was pretty far gone after a while, moans were escaping his lips. He was grinding his hips against her mouth and if she hadn't kept her other hand at the base of his shaft she would have gagged relentlessly. She kept on massaging his spot and put quite some strength behind it. His body became so tense, she could feel his testicles tighten, it was as if his cock twitched one last time. Both his hands were tugging at her hair. She hollowed her cheeks and sucked as hard as she could. Her lover's body shuddered as he came down her throat in a breathless whimper.

She collected it all in her mouth before swallowing it down. Completely drained of energy he sagged back into the couch. He twitched as she lapped at his limp cock, collecting any drops she had missed. She retracted her fingers and turned the glove inside out. She stood up to lean in on him. His hair was spilling over the edge of the couch. Some hairs were stuck to his temples, the flush on his cheeks was clearly visible. She traced her hand over his mouth to remove the lock of hair that was stuck in between his lips. His cheeks were relaxed, his breathing almost close to normal. "Beloved," she said, caressing his cheeks. "Do I clean you up?" he grasped her hand and kissed her palm, nodding slightly. He looked exhausted. She removed herself from the couch and threw the used glove away in the bin. The bathroom wasn't far. A wet washcloth in hand she came back. He enjoyed the coldness of it. A smile appeared on his lips. He rose himself in the couch and took it from her hand. He sponged the back of his neck, his stomach, his groin. She put away the lube bottle and other supplies. "Permission to carry you to bed." He stood up and left the washcloth on the table. He fumbled on his kimono belt and let the garment slide down on the floor. He was completely bare in front of her, smiling. He enjoyed being carried by her. She kissed him, her hand entangling in his hair. She lifted him up. His eyelids were almost closed. His hard muscles and scarred body pressed against her when they made their way to the bedroom.

He never said 'I love you' in English or even in Russian. Because for him the Japanese word 'aishiteru' was untranslatable. There were no other words for him that encompassed what he felt for her, and she so deeply knew that was exactly the word he whispered against her shoulders as she carried him to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zarya doesn't really say 'beloved', she says "Единственный" which means 'my only one'.


End file.
